Researching Metaphor in The Ancient Near

Researching Metaphor
in the Ancient Near East

Edited by
Marta Pallavidini and Ludovico Portuese
PHILIPPIKA
Altertumswissenschaftliche Abhandlungen
Contributions to the Study of Ancient World Cultures 141
Harrassowitz Verlag
PHILIPPIKA
Altertumswissenschaftliche Abhandlungen
Contributions to the Study
of Ancient World Cultures
Herausgegeben von /Edited by

Joachim Hengstl, Elizabeth Irwin,
Andrea Jördens, Torsten Mattern,
Robert Rollinger, Kai Ruffing, Orell Witthuhn
141
2020
Harrassowitz Verlag . Wiesbaden
Researching Metaphor
in the Ancient Near East
Edited by
Marta Pallavidini and Ludovico Portuese
2020
Harrassowitz Verlag . Wiesbaden
Bis Band 60: Philippika. Marburger altertumskundliche Abhandlungen.
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Published by Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG, Wiesbaden 2020
ISSN 1613-5628 ISBN 978-3-447-11437-0

eISSN 2701-8091 eISBN 978-3-447-39022-4
DOI: 10.13173/1613-5628 DOI: 10.13173/9783447114370
Contents
Acknowledgements ......................................................................... VII
Ludovico Portuese & Marta Pallavidini

Researching Metaphor in the Ancient Near East: An Introduction ................... 1
Stéphanie Anthonioz
The Lion, the Shepherd, and the Master of Animals: Metaphorical Interactions
and Governance Representations in Mesopotamian and Levantine Sources ......... 15
Esther Brownsmith
To Serve Woman: Jezebel, Anat, and the Metaphor of Women as Food ............... 29
Joseph Lam
Visualizing ‘Death’ (Môtu) in the Ugaritic Texts ........................................ 53
Davide Nadali
Aššur is King! The Metaphorical Implications of Embodiment, Personification,
and Transference in Ancient Assyria ...................................................... 69
Marta Pallavidini
How Did They Think? Towards Use of Metaphor Theories to Research
the Hittite Conceptual World.............................................................. 85
Judith P tzner
Cows of Battle, Urinating Lions, and Frightened Falcons: On Metaphor
in Sumerian Literary Compositions . ...................................................... 95
Ludovico Portuese
Live and Let Live Images: Metaphor and Interpictoriality in Neo-Assyrian Art ..... 115
Claudia Posani
The Significance of the Embrace Metaphor in the Inscription KARKAMIŠ A 21 ... 141
Silvia Salin
Metaphors and Conceptual Metaphors in the Mesopotamian Medical Texts ........ 153
Nelson Henrique da Silva Ferreira

Metaphor for the Construction of Spontaneous Meaning:
Examples Gathererd from the Rural Landscape in Sumerian Literature .............. 167
DOI: 10.13173/9783447114370.V
VI Contents
Lisa Wilhelmi
“Squeezing” Like Oil from a Sesame Seed: On the Conceptual Background of
Metaphoric Expressions in Akkadian Diplomatic Texts Originating from Ḫatti .... 187
Abbreviations ................................................................................ 201

Ac nowled ements
This book represents the result of the workshop “Researching Metaphor in the Ancient
Near East” that we organized for the 65th Recontre Assyriologique Internationale held in
Paris in July 2019.
We would like to thank, first, the organizing committee of the 65th RAI for welcoming
our workshop in the Recontre and, second, the workshop’s participants for the vivid dis-
cussion their talks generated.
We deeply thank the authors who contributed to this volume, for having met our dead-
lines and for their kind, quick and professional reactions to our requests and questions,
thus letting the proceedings of the workshop to be published one year after the Recontre.
Our gratitude goes also to the editors of the series Philippika. Contributions to the Study
of Ancient World Cultures for accepting enthusiastically our volume in their series: it is
certainly a pleasure and an honor to see our volume included in this excellent series.
We kindly thank also Margherita Andrea Valsecchi Gillmeister a valuable second set of
eyes to review all the formalities. We appreciate the thoroughness of her work, of course
every mistake still present in the volume is only our responsibility.
This publication was achieved thanks to the financial support of the Volkswagen
Stiftung that carried the publication costs. As funding organization of the project “How
did they think? Conceptual metaphors in the Hittite culture” within the program “Orig-
inal, isn’t it? New Options for the Humanities and Cultural Studies” – carried out at the
Freie Universität Berlin by Marta Pallavidini – we are particularly grateful for its support.
Finally, a special thanks goes to our families, in particular to Marco and Teresa respec-
tively, who supported us by taking care of everything else when we needed time for our
metaphors.
The final steps of this book have been carried out during the COVID-19 pandemic: it
was a hard time for all of us, so we want to express our sincere thankfulness to everyone
who made the realization of this project possible!
Berlin, April 2020

Marta & Ludovico
DOI: 10.13173/9783447114370.VII
Per correr miglior acque alza le vele
ormai la navicella del mio ingegno,
che lascia dietro a sé mar sì crudele;
e canterò di quel secondo regno
dove l’umano spirito si purga
e di salire al ciel diventa degno
(Dante, La Commedia, Purgatorio, Canto I, vv. 1–6)

Researchin Metaphor in the Ancient Near EastĨ
An Introduction
Ludovico Portuese & Marta Pallavidini (Freie Universität Berlin)
In the third tablet of the Gilgameš Epic, Enkidu’s reaction to Gilgameš’s idea to kill the
ogre that lives in the Cedar Forest, the savage Ḫuwawa, is to warn his friend of the ter-
rors that such an adventure would hold: “Ḫuwawa, his voice is the Deluge, his speech is
fire and his breath is death”. 1 This description is highly metaphorical, it appears divine
or numinous, and thus not of this world. No adequate description can be given using
terms that are grounded in worldly experience. Metaphor, accordingly, constitutes the
only means of communicating the otherworldly or extraordinary experience. It forms the
bridge between direct and mediate experience, between the religious and the human, and
furnishes a common bond of understanding between people. 2
In a similar vein, in the Akkadian version of the Annals of Ḫattušili I, the Hittite king
is depicted as a lion: “like a lion with its paw, he rendered powerless the city of Ḫaššu”
(Obv. 35). 3 In this passage, a list of characteristics like force, power, aggressiveness are con-
ceptualized in a single metaphorical image, that is, the lion. Furthermore, the same image
is also traditionally connected to the idea of heroic kingship, so that in one metaphor
several different concepts are subsumed and communicated.
These and many other examples proliferate in textual and visual evidence from the an-
cient Near East, which have produced a cornucopia of metaphors. This expression, used
by Benjamin A. Foreman to refer to the Book of Jeremiah, is deliberately embraced here
to draw the attention on the richness of metaphors scattered in texts and images from
the ancient Near East. 4 In fact, although research on metaphor in the Hebrew Bible – a
product of an ancient Near Eastern culture – has blossomed in recent years, 5 the study of
metaphor in ancient Near Eastern studies has been neglected or only episodically inves-
tigated. 6 Where it has been investigated, the concept of metaphor has been used without
re ection on its definition and features.
1 George 2003, 203, column iii, lines 110–111.

2 Jacobsen 1976, 3.
3 CTH 4.I. Edition: Devecchi 2005.
4 Foreman 2011, 1.
5 See, with reference to previous and further literature, Van Hecke (ed) 2005.
6 See below.
DOI: 10.13173/9783447114370.001
2 Ludovico Portuese & Marta Pallavidini
What is the metaphor, and how it can be detected in past sources from the ancient
Near East? How does today’s receiver understand and appreciate a metaphor used by an-
cient cultures? Scholars have seldom re ected on these questions, and the answer is, in
fact, surprisingly complicated. Scholars have mostly dealt with the issue following what
metaphor is commonly thought of since antiquity. 7
In ancient times, metaphor has been an object of study by philosophers, rhetoricians
and scholars in general. Aristotle in Poetics explains it as consisting “in giving the thing
a name that belongs to something else; the transference being either from genus to spe-
cies, or from species to genus, or from species to species, on the grounds of analogy”. 8
Furthermore, he inferred that “producing good metaphors is equivalent to observing the
similarities” 9 and defined this attitude as “the mark of the genius”. 10 Quintilian, in the
Institutio Oratoria, defines metaphor as similitudo brevior 11 and Cicero identifies the func-
tions of metaphor in making speech more fashionable and more persuasive. 12 Since then,
metaphor has been traditionally considered a trope, and it still is, as explicitly stated by
the definition given by the Oxford English Dictionary where metaphor is defined as “a
figure of speech in which a name or descriptive word or phrase is transferred to an object
or action different from, but analogous to, that to which it is literally applicable”. 13 All
these definitions contribute to highlight a set of specific and narrowly confused views on
metaphor, which basically imply that metaphor: is a linguistic phenomenon; is used for
literary and rhetorical purposes, to embellish speech or to make it more incisive; is based
on analogy or similarity between the entities compared; and, finally, that its production is
deliberate and is the expression of the genius of the authors. 14
This definition of metaphor as a figure of speech has been widely accepted, and in gen-
eral scholars of the ancient Near East have addressed the issue of metaphor without refer-
ence to specific theoretical approaches. In short, metaphor and its importance has been
recognized but barely investigated according to a specific theory of metaphor. This is what
emerges from the seminal work The Treasures of Darkness: A History of Mesopotamian Re-
ligion (1976) by Thorkild Jacobsen, who points out the basic importance of metaphors for
the study of Mesopotamian religion: “the whole purpose of the metaphor is a leap from
7 For a recent and broad examination on the metaphor, see Ritchie 2013, 4.
8 Aristotle, Poetics, 1457b, 6–7 (
). The idea of analogy
as basis for metaphorical production is expressed also in Rhetorics, 1411a–b.
9 Poetics, 1459a, 8 ( ). On the similarity aspect see also id.,
Topics, 139b–140a.
10 Aristotle, Poetics, 1459a, 6–8 ( ®
).
11 Quintilian, Institutio oratoria VIII 6, 8–9 (In totum autem metaphora brevior est similitudo, eoque
distat quod illa comparator rei quam volumus exprimere, haec pro ipsa re dicitur).
12 Cicero, Rhetorica ad Herennium, IV.34; De oratore III, 158–162.
13 http://www.oed.com/view/Entry/117328?redirectedFrom=metaphor¶eid. A similar definition can
be found also in the Encyclopaedia Britannica: https://www.britannica.com/art/metaphor. For a
recent and broad examination on the metaphor, see Ritchie 2013, 4.
14 See on these implications Kövecses 2002, vii.
Researching Metaphor in Ancient Near East: An Introduction 3
that level (the literal), and a religious metaphor is not truly understood until it is expe-
rienced as a means of suggesting the Numinous”. 15 As one example, in the hymn to the
moon god, Nanna, the god’s basic shape is described according to the image of a ruler and
of a young bull, metaphor of power to engender, create new life, and multiply the herd. 16
In a similar vein, scholars have acknowledged the Gilgameš Epic as rich with metaphors.
In addition to the example cited above, the hero’s prowess with the mattock is likened to
a hunting net, where the mattock is the tool of burial and the net is a metaphor for the
shades’ captivity in the Netherworld, over which Gilgameš presides. 17 Religious metaphors
like this show the human effort to understand and make understandable the nonhuman.
This concept is in line with what biblical scholars have identified in the Hebrew Bible as the
metaphorical nature of God-language or – as Brent A. Strawn points out – the nature of
metaphor as language for God. 18 It is not by chance that metaphors in the Mesopotamian
literature have been also examined with a view toward elucidating references in the He-
brew Bible. Ronald A. Veenker (1999–2000) uses this approach to explain some passages
in the Bible by examining the broad variety of sexual metaphors in the Mesopotamian
literature. The focus is on texts dealing with fruit and sexual eating, which turns out to be
a “simple metaphor” for intercourse used by the biblical narrator to tell the reader by means
of this metaphor that Adam and Eve experienced sex for the first time in the Garden.
In all these instances, the functions of metaphor have been regarded by scholars as
means to make the speech more fashionable and more persuasive, but especially to describe
the ineffable and indescribable. Thus, most contributions to the study of metaphors in the
ancient Near East have focused on textual evidence and treated metaphors as ornamental
analogies used to make comparisons, according to the Aristotle’s “substitution theory”.
But there have been increasing efforts to take an integrative approach that examines the
metaphor with new perspectives. The need for a new approach was sensed in 1983, when
a group of scholars from Britain, Holland, Germany, and Israel met at the Warburg In-
stitute and the School of Oriental and African Studies specifically to discuss the use of
figurative language in Sumerian, Akkadian, Ugaritic, and biblical Hebrew literature. In
the introduction to the proceedings of the symposium published in the volume Figurative
Language in the Ancient Near East (1987), Markham J. Geller acknowledges that “the cur-
rent trends away from historical grammar and linguistics have meant that languages such
as Sumerian and Akkadian do not feature in studies of metaphor and figurative language.
The Semitists, on the other hand, have generally not entered into the arena of semiotics
and ‘the meaning of meaning’, because so much of the basic work of lexicography and the
production of text editions remains to be done”. 19 The enquiry carried out by the contribu-
tors of the symposium spans metaphors both in figurative imagery and architecture, in the
15 Jacobsen 1976, 5.
16 Ibid., 7–8.
17 George 2003: 107. For further identified metaphors, see ibid., 108, 238, 324. See also Jacobsen 1976,
195–219.
18 Strawn 2005, 5.
19 Geller 1987, vii.
language of religion and love, in commercial contexts and in the everyday language. Some
of the authors make reference to the favourite old distinction between “dead” and “living”
metaphors, namely the idea that a conventional metaphor is “dead” and no longer in u-
ences thought. 20 Although specific metaphor theories are not used, the significant result of
this volume is that the many etymological investigations addressed the issue of metaphor
not merely as rhetorical embellishment but also as a common means of lexical extension,
recognizing its productive role in all discourse, not only poetry.
To what extent can modern linguistic theories and methods illuminate the nature of
metaphor? Current theories actually offer important new paths for understanding what
ancient writers were actually talking about or doing and their patterns of thought. Meta-
phor has in fact been reconceptualised and is nowadays considered to be fundamental to
the human conceptual system. This relatively new perspective on metaphor, fathered by
George Lakoff and Mark Johnson with their Conceptual Metaphor Theory (1980), is in
a certain sense revolutionary in that metaphor is conceived not only as a question of lan-
guage but, first and foremost, of thinking and consequently of acting. The theory treats
the metaphor as a conceptual rather than a purely linguistic phenomenon or a decorative
device, used in everyday life by people as an integral part of the process of human thought
and reasoning. Lakoff and Johnson give love is a journey as a simple example of a met-
aphor and argue that it embraces a number of ideas related to the lovers conceived as trav-
ellers, the love relationship as the vehicle, potential difficulties as journey’s impediments,
relationship goal(s) as the journey’s destination, and so on, even if not every instance of
metaphorical mapping from one domain (i.e., journey) to another (i.e., love) is explic-
it. This new approach thus considers metaphor as the main mechanism through which
we humans comprehend a relatively abstract or inherently unstructured subject matter
(target domain) in terms of a more concrete, or at least more highly structured, subject
matter (source domain). The metaphors are nothing but mappings across conceptual do-
mains, where each mapping is not arbitrary but grounded in the body and in everyday
experience and knowledge. Accordingly, metaphor is identified as structuring features
of human thought, particularly as expression of “embodied” human experience from the
inseparable perspective of one’s own body. 21
Chikako E. Watanabe’s monograph Animal Symbolism: A Contextual Approach (2002),
represents an important contribution to the re ection about metaphors in the ancient
Near East and the available metaphor theories. It explores the numerous lion metaphors
in the Mesopotamian royal context pointing out that, although the symbolic associations
of the king with the lion is clear for today’s readers, care is required when modern views
are applied to past culture metaphors. Watanabe adapts a metaphor theory that belongs to
the philosophy of language propounded by Max Black, according to which the metaphor-
20 Lakoff and Turner (1989, 129) have criticized this view and pointed out that “The mistake derives
from a basic confusion: it assumes that those things in our cognition that are most alive and most
active are those that are conscious. On the contrary, those that are most alive and most deeply en-
trenched, efficient, and powerful are those that are so automatic as to be unconscious and effortless”.
21 See below.
ical statement has two distinct subjects, the primary and the secondary. 22 In the statement
“the king is a lion”, the primary subject is the king and the secondary subject the lion. It
is the secondary subject, in particular, that signals a system of relationships evoking vari-
ous ideas, images and features which are projected onto the primary subject. Specifically,
some expressions in Sumerian (e.g. “I am the lion with wide-open mouth”) may be easily
interpreted because some statements evoke associated implications based on the natural-
istic and concrete gestures of behaviours of the animal. Other expressions (e.g. “lion with
awe-inspiring eyes”) are more abstract and evoke notions by a conceptual means in which
ideas are built upon basic knowledge shared within the community which, if not shared,
then the metaphorical meaning may not be effective. 23 In a similar vein, Brent A. Strawn’s
monograph What Is Stronger than a Lion? Leonine Image and Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible
and the Ancient Near East (2005) also proceeds to investigate the use of the lion in the art
and literature of the ancient Near East going through past and modern metaphor theories,
from which the author draws the following conclusions: metaphors are i) comparative,
in an interactive way, ii) contextually conditioned, namely context impacts the construc-
tion, reception, and interpretation of metaphor, iii) polyvalent and, consequently, also
open-ended. More importantly, Strawn raises the problem, or limit, for today’s scholars
to approach metaphor in antiquity. In fact, the ancient user’s metaphor could potentially
and irreparably be misunderstood by the modern receiver. He cites as an example the fact
that not all cultures, for instance, treat time as a commodity that can be spent, saved, or
wasted; so that as a consequence the metaphor time is money would not be universally
understood. Both user and receiver, then, should share knowledge of the subsidiary sub-
ject in general; if they do not share such knowledge, then the full significance of the user’s
metaphor may be unavailable or lost to the receiver. Strawn, in this regard, rightly argues
for an adequate understanding of the user’s sign-context to at least at some minimal level,
which enables the receiver to make sense of and appreciate the content of the metaphor in a
way analogous to the user. 24 This may even happen also within the same culture: if similar
metaphors were used for long time, such as 2000 years, we cannot be sure whether or not
they were understood in the same way in the different eras and geographical locations. 25
That said, metaphor theories indicate that some of the problems evident in previous
research are actually more difficult to solve than they at first appear. Therefore, in order
to ensure that previous mistakes are avoided, it is fundamental to rethink metaphor in
the ancient Near East in the light of the more updated theories and methods. That is why
it is only recently that there has been a mounting interest among scholars of the ancient
Near East in new views on metaphor, which has inevitably led to research approaches that
22 Black 1962.
23 Previous results in this direction were already presented in Watanabe 2000.
24 Strawn 2005, 5–16.
25 In this respect, see the paper of Hätinen 2017 on the metaphorical expression “I am a fully laden
boat!”, the aim being to contextualise the boat metaphors used in Mesopotamian literary expres-
sion. For an in-depth examination of the non-universality in metaphorical conceptualization, both
cross-culturally and culture-related, see Kövecses 2005.
take into account the in uences of metaphor on and its interactions with textual evidence.
In this regard, Ronald A. Simkins’s article (2014) is indicative in that it relies on recent
and revolutionary theories to approach the creation metaphors in Mesopotamia, Egypt,
and Israel and how the many diverse metaphors may nonetheless express a single cultural
understanding of creation. In fact, the literature of ancient Near East attests to a diverse
collection of metaphors used to describe the creation of the world in terms of human pro-
creation, sexual intercourse, or agricultural and human actions. This relationship between
the human body and the creation have been in the first place explained through the works
of Lakoff and Johnson because the body functioned as a model for the world, the procre-
ation of the human body (microcosm) offered an appropriate analogy for understanding
the creation of the world and society (macrocosm). 26 Simkins argues accordingly that this
complex symbolic relationship between the body and the world formed the basis of the
ancient Near Eastern understanding of creation. A further important point made by Sim-
kins is that metaphors ordinarily are constrained by existing cultural understandings, that
is to say that the selection of metaphors is a feature of culture so that metaphors can be
understood or can work only if they correspond to the people’s cultural understanding. 27
As well as creation myths, good examples of the use of this approach to metaphor
are found in the study of textual sources for ancient medicine. These texts often employ
technical language and terminology derived from specific domains of life for which in
many circumstances the use of metaphor becomes essential and inevitable. In this respect,
scholars look for new conceptual frameworks suitable for studying the phenomena of
metaphor in ancient medicine, often drawing on in uential paradigms from cognitive
linguistics and phenomenology. The recently published volume “The Comparable Body:
Analogy and Metaphor in Ancient Mesopotamian, Egyptian, and Greco-Roman Medicine”
(2017) provides examples of papers which deal with different thematic threads on analogy
and metaphor, often building on modern theories such as the above-discussed Concep-
tual Metaphor Theory or the Conceptual Blending Metaphor Theory propounded by
the cognitive scientists Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Turner. 28 In particular, in the ancient
Near Eastern studies the Conceptual Metaphor Theory has been adopted in the works of
Silvia Salin regarding medicine and related topics (e.g. diseases) in ancient Mesopotamia. 29
Likewise, metaphor theories have begun to be considered as a tool to investigate the re-
lationship between written language and the political discourse. Marta Pallavidini (2017,
2018 and in press) has introduced the Conceptual Metaphor Theory to investigate con-
ceptual metaphors in Hittite historiographic and diplomatic texts. In detail, she explored
the relation between the Hittite kings and other rulers of the ancient Near East in treaties,
whose dynamics of power were expressed with metaphor that transcended the limit of a
single language or culture. What emerges is the fundamental role of conceptual metaphor
in shaping the diplomatic discourse in the Late Bronze Age.
26 Lakoff and Johnson 1980, Lakoff 1987. See also, recently, Hampe (ed) 2017.
27 Kövecses 2005.
28 Fauconnier and Turner 2002.
29 Salin 2017, 2018a and 2018b.
Metaphor theories raise a multitude of questions concerning the study of the ancient
world, and their application regards several different disciplines, not only ancient Near
Eastern studies but also Classics as well as Egyptology. By regarding metaphors not just as
an ornamental linguistic device but as an essential process and product of the mind, meta-
phor can be seen as both essential to the language and also to visual art, being a product of
thought. In fact, metaphors are pivotal in nonverbal manifestations as well. The non-ver-
bal use of metaphor has not been investigated either on the same scale or with the same
rigour as metaphor in language. However, visual metaphor has become a popular research
topic in contemporary culture in a context characterized by the so-called “pictorial turn”. 30
Research in this area has blossomed in recent years and new methods of analysis are be-
ing proposed by modern theorists, often relying on insights gained in linguistic metaphor
research, developing methods to identify visual forms of metaphor and also to pinpoint
their conceptual structures. 31 However, in ancient Near Eastern studies, visual metaphor
research occupies an under-represented area of inquiry. Compared to textual analyses, very
few academic studies have featured this specific topic and, where they have, the authors
have barely recognised the role of metaphor or at most made only a passing reference to it.
The essays of Irene J. Winter on ancient Near Eastern art, in this respect, are rich with
metaphorical interpretations of figurative subjects. For instance, in reading and interpret-
ing the particular mode of representing the body of Naram-Sin on the famous Victory
Stela and what such a mode might have meant for ancient viewers, she concludes that this
representation is metaphor for the ruler’s potency. Therefore, the victorious attitude of
the king, “his well-rounded buttocks, his muscled calves, his elegantly arched back, his
luxuriant beard” should be read as metaphor of male vigour, authority and dominance,
and reproductive potential. 32 Regardless for the correct use of the word metaphor in this
context, Winter’s study has the merit of contextualizing metaphor, that is to say its in-
terpretation must be strictly bound to the culture that has produced it. In a similar vein,
Winter demonstrates that in the statues of Gudea many properties in the domain of form
must be metaphorically read, such as physical size as metaphor of charisma and social
power. 33 Here, again, Winter stresses the importance of reading qualities of expression
associated with visual imagery as culturally and historically specific, in order to advance
the interpretation of these images.
30 Mitchell 1994, 11.

31 For the identification of conceptual metaphor in written documents, the Metaphor Identification
Procedure has been developed by a group of researchers (see for the specifics of the procedure Prag-
glejaz Group 2007). For a reappraisal on previous literature and current inquiries on visual meta-
phor, see Forceville 1996; Serig 2008; Steen 2018.
32 Winter 1996.
33 Winter 1989. Also the still debated motif showing a stylized tree anked and, apparently, touched
by winged figures in some of the Neo-Assyrian palaces bas-reliefs, have often been referred to by
scholars as metaphor for an act of reproduction, inciting many more or less speculative works (see
Giovino 2007 for a reappraisal of previous works on this issue). However, as noted by Selz 2014, 660
note 14, a careful study of semiotics and cognitive linguistics would greatly improve on the specula-
tive approach used in these papers.
There appear to be no studies in which the identification and analysis of visual met-
aphors in antiquity has been based on a general theory of metaphor. Could theories of
linguistic metaphor therefore be employed in understanding visual metaphors? In a very
broad sense, a visual metaphor is not dissimilar in appearance to textual metaphor: it
basically makes an analogical comparison between two terms, stating that one term is
figuratively like the other term, even though the two are literally different. To interpret
a visual metaphor, one must therefore identify the two terms of the metaphor, the pri-
mary and secondary subject, and which features of the secondary subject are projected
upon the primary subject. According to theorists, some sort of anomaly or incongruity
is an obligatory feature of a visual metaphor, in other words pictures that invite a meta-
phorical interpretation usually display some departure from viewers’ expectations and
their understanding of reality. To be metaphorical, accordingly, the picture must possess
something odd, a deviation from the expectation of the viewer, and a stimulus represent-
ing incongruity. Moreover, the visual metaphor must not be confused with the notion
of symbolism, since metaphors are not symbols, and the two concepts cannot be used
interchangeably. In detail, a metaphorical representation is a transformation that occurs
when one thing in its entirety denotes another thing in its entirety. The circle as psyche,
mandala as wholeness or balance, or the sun as life are examples of visual metaphor. Visual
metaphor, accordingly, is a potent stimulus for generating and tapping new, different, or
deeper levels of meaning. 34 Symbols, by contrast, have fixed meanings regardless of con-
text. When a symbol is understood, it is no longer a dynamic source of further meanings.
The premises used in the above-cited work of Watanabe are drawn from linguistic theo-
ry; and the author delves further into the issue by extending the analysis of rhetorical devic-
es used in language to an investigation of iconography using animal symbolism in Mesopo-
tamia. She consequently adopts a specific terminology to describe texts and images: texts
are defined as metaphoric and images as symbolic. Accordingly, the notions expressed in
animal metaphors in relation to kingship are also represented symbolically in iconography.
As an example, the image on Assyrian royal seals of the king stretching out his left arm to
grasp the top of the head of a lion which faces him is a metaphor for the king’s action and
quality which are seen through the posture and danger of the lion; the king is capable of
harming and killing anyone, even the strong and enraged lion shown in the scene.
Cognitive linguistics is the methodological background of a more recent study on
plant metaphors in ancient Mesopotamia presented by Gebhard J. Selz (2014). He inves-
tigates the many textual, but also visual, references which allow us to connect diverse
terms like the “Plant of Rejuvenation”, the “Plant of Life”, the “Tree of Life”, the “Sacred
Tree”, the “Bread of Life”, the “Primeval Flower”, and even the “Plant of Birth-Giving”.
His conclusions, built on the theoretical concepts derived from Lakoff’s work from 1987
on Idealised Cognitive Models, and from the Conceptual Blending Theory of Fauconni-
er and Turner, reveals that an entire set of connected but not identical religious ideas lie
behind the textual and pictorial evidence. Following this line of thought and relying on
34 Feinstein 1982, 50.

Lakoff and Johnson’s Conceptual Metaphor Theory, Ludovico Portuese (2018) propos-
es first that the plant of life mentioned in the Assyrian royal correspondence belongs to
the long-standing Mesopotamian tradition traced by Selz, which highlights a more meta-
phoric use of plant terms referring to life or the renewal of youth rather than a literal use,
suggesting that this figurative language emerges from knowledge structures which reside
in long-term memory. Second, it is concluded that the plant, depicted on palace bas-re-
liefs in the form of a lotus ower, was used primarily by the king to express his mercy and
metaphorically indicate himself as a life-giving ruler. The visual metaphor is thus gaining
prominence in recent studies, but as yet it has by no means been extensively investigated
and theorized, and confusion still pervades terminology, such as the distinction between
visual metaphor and symbol. Moreover, almost without exception, analyses of visual ex-
pressions have been made only by relating them to comparable textual examples. Further-
more, the theoretical and methodological bases that have been used have been limited and
further work is essential and highly required. There is still much work to be done in the
context of ancient Near Eastern studies, with a combined and integrated examination of
both text and visual elements, based on a coherent and explicit theoretical understanding.
The “metaphor revolution” in ancient Near Eastern studies has started, and the
ground-work has been laid by the prominent studies listed above. These have rejected
the notions that metaphor is exclusively a linguistic phenomenon, and that it is immune
to new approaches drawing on other fields of investigation. From this swift review, what
emerges is that the historic material at our disposal must be engaged comprehensively and
holistically and that close attention must be paid to the ancient context. Analysis should
consider both textual and visual elements, and metaphor theories should drive the inter-
pretive process. The editors envisage an outcome in which metaphor offers us a way to
consider the ancient evidence from a new and stimulating perspective.
The present volume seeks to fill the gaps in the current scholarship and to suggest new
paths of research in this field. Involving Assyriologists, Hittitologists, Semitists, and art
historians, it gathers the papers given in a workshop organized by the two editors dur-
ing the 65th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale held in Paris (July 8th-12th 2019), and
shows that different disciplines can profit from closer contact and open dialogue. In fact,
contributions approach the topic of metaphor in the ancient Near East from different
theoretical and methodological perspectives. Chronologically, the time span embraces
more than two millennia, from the Sumerian to the Neo-Assyrian period and beyond.
Geographically, the area covered spreads from Mesopotamia, to Anatolia and to the Le-
vant. Accordingly, the sources under analysis include Sumerian literature, hieroglyphic
Luwian, Hittite texts, Neo-Assyrian texts and reliefs, as well as Biblical sources.
Three papers mainly explore the metaphors of Neo-Assyrian evidence, drawing out
detailed examples from texts and images and proposing comparisons with non-Mesopo-
tamian sources. Stephanie Anthonioz examines and compares the representation of gov-
ernance according to Assyrian and Levantine textual and iconographic sources, with a
particular focus on the images of the lion, the shepherd, along with the Master of animals.
Anthonioz evaluates these images in an associative and interactive way, giving special em-
phasis to the interaction between lion and shepherd in the Book of Amos, which produc-
es an uncommon effect of irony. She thus concludes that these images make full sense
only if scrutinized in their interactive interpretation; additionally, a comparison between
Assyrian and biblical texts highlights the different views and perspectives scribes adapted
and adopted from culture to culture to rework on the same metaphors.
The image, or metaphor, of the lion is examined also in the contribution of Ludovico
Portuese on the interpictoriality in the Neo-Assyrian sources. In detail, he focuses on three
case studies, the birds of prey, the lotus ower, and the lion hunt, to highlight how both the
motifs and their related metaphorical meanings travel through time and space. To achieve
this goal, a dialogue between the mechanism of interpictoriality, the conceptual metaphor
theory and the image metaphor theory is proposed to bring to the fore that the reign of
Ashurbanipal in particular was characterized by a pronounced “hyperinterpictoriality”,
that is to say a particular intense presence of “migrating images” and, therefore, of “mi-
grating metaphors” from previous periods, especially from the reign of Ashurnasirpal II.
Davide Nadali considers metaphor as a rhetoric device that can evoke images, and thus
focuses on the interaction of words and pictures and the ways they interact to represent
the Assyrian kingship. Metaphor is explored in examples that have a precise visual and
material manifestation, that is to say the metaphor of the “king is a lion” and the meta-
phorical implications bound to the expression “Aššur is king!” pronounced in the royal
coronation ritual. Particularly, the former refers not only to the lion-animal comparison
but also works as image carved onto the Assyrian state seal and impressed on the goods
belonging to the crown; the second, instead, is deemed to be an embodied process, lead-
ing Nadali to conclude that “Aššur is king!” is the “materialization of divine power via
the body of the king and the legitimization of the Assyrian king via the body of the god”.
Shifting from the Neo-Assyrian period to previous times, two contributions analyze
metaphors in Sumerian literature. Judith Pfitzner observes and evaluates some unusual
metaphors that appear in Sumerian literature of the Old-Babylonian period. These met-
aphorical images are carefully dissected, and consequently explained by their relying on
different phenomena: the metaphor of the frightened falcon is explained by a mislead-
ing interpretation of the signs; the cow of battle emerges by a misleading translation that
took place already in antiquity; the destroyed brick metaphor is produced by a modern
misleading translation (that is also the explanation for the image of the snake devouring
a carrion) as well as by an ancient play with sign and their phonetics; the urinating lion
suggests a certain degree of scribal creativity. Pfitzner’s main point is that in many cases
the metaphors can be explained by a close analysis of the context in which documents are
produced, while in some other cases a wider perspective is required.
Nelson Henrique da Silva Ferreira analyses metaphors related to rural landscape that
produces spontaneous meaning, following the same approach of Nadali’s paper, accord-
ing to which words are evocative of objects and ideas. Da Silva Ferreira explicitly does not
engage with the debate about metaphor, the central concept of the study being the semiotic
principle of the “sign of meaning”, that is to say “a visual marker that identifies the individ-
ual characteristics of an image that can convey a crystalized meaning”. In detail, the author
argues that some concepts expressed through symbolic language are drawn from the ob-
servation of the natural world (e.g. richness, fertility, abundance and prosperity), since “the
relation landscape/agricultural is an engine of linguistic creativity and established connec-

tions between abstract thought and natural world”. In conclusion, semiotics is proposed as
a tool not only for a better reading of ancient literature but also to approach languages that
are built on the cosmos that produces the symbolic language of literature itself.
Three contributions take us from Sumerian literature to the hieroglyphic Luwian and
the Hittite world. Claudia Posani investigates and proposes a new reading of the metaphor-
ical expression AMPLECTI-mi commonly translated as “beloved”. The author first com-
pares the evidence from the inscription KARKAMIŠ A 21 with other written attestations
that include the expression, and with the so-called Umarmungszenen, embrace scenes,
represented on Hittite seals and reliefs; then she goes on to assess and define metaphor as
linguistic and mental process according to cognitive linguistics. Posani finally circles back
to the expression under examination to translate it not as “beloved” but as “embraced”.
Marta Pallavidini presents and investigates the metaphor in Hittite textual evidence.
The author shows how the processing of the Hittite written sources according to the
conceptual metaphor theory and via the metaphor identification procedure can open an
access to the conceptual world of the Hittites, which can lead to new evidence for long-de-
bated issues, like, for instance, the origin and formation of the scribes who produced the
Hittite texts and the reciprocal in uences of the different languages attested in the sourc-
es from the Hittite kingdom. Also, other two fundamental theoretical approaches are dis-
cusses relying on examples from different Hittite textual genres, the deliberate metaphor
theory and the conceptual blending theory, both showing as useful in the understanding
and interpreting some complex metaphors.
The contribution of Lisa Wilhelmi, moving from the conceptual metaphor theory, fo-
cuses on the problem of the translation of the metaphor in different languages. She shows
first that the problem of the translation is present and is to be considered with a great de-
gree of awareness also in modern spoken languages, since not all metaphors are universal,
or universally understood. Keeping in mind this challenge, Wilhelmi focuses on some
metaphorical expression attested in the Hittite diplomatic texts written in Akkadian: ina
kul libbi ‘wholeheartedly’, the verb a ā u with the meaning ‘to pressure’, and , the lo-
cution āma u u āba ul leqû with the literal meaning ‘(to) not take a piece of chaff or a
splinter of wood’, metaphorically interpreted as ‘(to) not take a single thing’. The author
demonstrates how these expressions can be explained by different mechanisms that apply
to the conceptual and writing process of scribes who were, most probably, not Akkadian
native speakers.
The effectiveness of the conceptual metaphor theory applied to ancient written sourc-
es is shown also in the paper from Silvia Salin, dedicated to the metaphorical expressions
related to the concepts of disease and pain in Mesopotamian medical texts. The analysis
shows that metaphors adopted to describe disease and pain are shared by a number of
cultures, even the modern Western culture (e.g. illness is an enemy). Salin also assesses
the metaphors related to the concept of body: since illness caused by witchcraft is some-
thing that enters the body of the victim, illness is accordingly something contained with-
in the body, turning the body into a container. The consequent conceptual metaphor is
that the body is a container and the body is a house, thus proving the validity of
a conceptual approach to metaphors in ancient documents.
Conceptual metaphors play also a central role in the contribution of Esther Brownsmith
focused on Anat and Jezebel and on their conceptualization as women hunting men, in-
stead of women consumed as food by men. This behavior is unusual, for in the ancient
Near East women are conceptualized as consumed food, not as consumers or even hunt-
ers. Such a phenomenon is explained by considering other elements, such as the gender of
Anat or in the light of the fact that Jezebel ended up being devoured. To dissect and scru-
tiny the implications of these unusual metaphors, Brownsmith approaches the context
via the conceptual blending theory, arguing that “the author of the Jezebel narratives used
the metaphor woman is food to make an implicit argument: Jezebel, as an example of the
dangerous Foreign Woman, reversed the natural order of things; the appropriate response
to such unnatural behaviour is the violent reassertion of traditional norms”. The author
thus concludes that Anat and Jezebel act independently of men and assert their autonomy
with bloody force and, through these examples, she shows the importance of conceptual
metaphor to shape stories.
Finally, the paper contributed by Joseph Lam, presents a topic that appears challeng-
ing to engage with when dealing with metaphors, that is the representation of deities in
texts. He focuses on the anthropomorphic, theriomorphic and surreal visualizations of
Môtu (death) in Ugaritic documents, and argues that the concept of metaphor is not suf-
ficient to convey the modes of representation of Mwtu, and in general of deities, since the
role of metaphor may vary across the different modes of depiction of a deity. The visual-
ization of deities do not provide, in fact, the reader or hearer with a predetermined way
to read the divine conception, being the representations literal, partially metaphorical, or
fully metaphorical. Accordingly, Lam suggests that one-dimensional and totalizing ap-
proaches should be avoided, and a study of metaphors and deities rather requires multiple
approaches to fully grasp the richness of their representation in literary texts.
In sum, the wide variety of methodological approaches presented in this volume exem-
plifies some of the ways metaphor can be profitably studied in the ancient Near Eastern
sources. Therefore, the editors’ goal was to encourage the authors to draw conclusions
based on close readings of case studies in their own field. The workshop has illuminated
and treated in detail specific ancient sources – both textual and visual – and examined
typologies of issues, adopting from time to time different strategies for encountering and
coping with common problems. It has drawn attention to perspectives that might other-
wise be taken for granted and that, if explored, could open new research directions in the
field of ancient Near Eastern studies.
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The Lion, the Shepherd, and the Master of AnimalsĨ
Metaphorical Interactions and
Governance Representations in Mesopotamian
and Levantine Sourcesġ
Stéphanie Anthonioz (Université catholique de Lille, UMR 8167)
As Brent A. Strawn reminds us, metaphor theory has cast significant light on the inter-
pretation of metaphors and the way they function. 1 This can be brie y summarized in
the following way: metaphor is a literary figure that speaks of one thing (A) by means of
another (B). The relationship between A and B creates a complex interaction with the
transfer of some or all of B’s qualities to A with the consequence that B may be likened to
A. This interaction between elements could in theory be extended to different metaphors
that have at least one element in common. For example, if the king (A) is associated with
the image of the lion (B) in different sources but also to that of the shepherd (C), one
could no longer consider these metaphors in a separate way (A/B and A/C) but in their
interaction (A/B/C). The shepherd and the lion are images as well as vivid metaphors
which have each received much attention. 2 Closely connected to the lion and the shepherd
stands the image of the Master of animals which is less documented, 3 possibly because
of the fewer textual sources referring to it. It is obvious that these images are those that
represent power in the ancient Near East and particularly royal and divine power. This
is true also in Greece as documented by Johannes Haubold, 4 who, for example, explores
the pastoral theme according to Foucault’s concept of pastoralism and studies how it is
reworked in two ancient literary texts, Gilgameš and the Iliad. 5 However, these metaphors
have rarely been studied in their interaction. One important and as yet peerless study has,
* I would like to thank Márton Farkas for his careful reading of this contribution and improving my
English.
1 Strawn 2005, 1–15.
2 Strawn 2009 and 2015; Pyper 2014; Nahkola 2011; Albenda 1972, 1974, and 2008; Seyer 2006 and
2007; Watanabe 1998 and 2000; Collins 1998; Cassin 1981. Concerning the image of the shepherd,
see footnote 37.
3 Selz 2018; Counts and Arnold (eds) 2010; Diamond 2003; Keel and Uehlinger 2001, 183–192.
4 Haubold 2015; Heil 2006.
5 Haubol 2015. According to the author, Greek and Mesopotamian authors participated in a long-
standing debate about pastoral leadership which spanned the Eastern Mediterranean and Near
East. Homer and Gilgameš describe the problem in similar terms, but they disagree on how it can be
DOI: 10.13173/9783447114370.015
16 Stéphanie Anthonioz
however, been published: The Master of Animals in Old World Iconography, edited by
Derek B. Counts and Bettina Arnold, lays the fundament for such an endeavor. 6 As the
authors remind us, in the realm of iconography, the image of the master of animals in its
diversity has enjoyed wide-ranging popularity. Indeed, this very image allowed for the
articulation of various concepts in binary opposition so essential to social, political and
religious representations, such as human vs. nature; earthly vs. divine; strength vs. weak-
ness; authority vs. subordination; wild vs. tamed; life vs. death; and order vs. chaos. The
Master of animals manifests royal power and the maintenance of order in the cosmos
through nature. In a stimulating manner, in Cyprus, the case for the re-appropriation of
a Master of animals into a shepherd – the good shepherd as the Christian context makes
clear – is attested. 7 In this case, the re-appropriation was easy since the qualities of element
B, the Master of animals, did overlap with those of element C, the good shepherd, element
A, being the common element to both images, the sovereign lord.
As far as I am aware, the images of the lion, the shepherd, and the Master of animals,
though closely associated in the realm of sovereignty, have not been the object of what
could be called an associative or interactive analysis. This contribution aims at revisiting
these images, analyzing the sources in interaction, without excluding them and confront-
ing them even in their contradictions. The following analysis is based on textual sources
and should be further enriched by the study of iconographic sources. In the first part, I
will review Assyrian royal inscriptions and their treatment of the figures of the lion and
the shepherd. In the second part, I will review Levantine sources, which will allow me to
propose, in the Book of Amos, a detailed analysis of the interactive metaphors of the lion
and the shepherd.
The Lion in Mesopotamian Royal Inscriptions 8
There is no doubt that the metaphorical dimension of the leonine figure is of great antiq-
uity in Mesopotamian sources. It is often associated with the hunt and this point has been
abundantly studied and theorized. 9 In royal inscriptions from the Medio-Assyrian peri-
addressed. This, then, is my third point: while the epic of Gilgameš suggests that the shepherd can be
reformed, Greek epic is far less optimistic.
6 Counts and Arnold 2010.
7 “The presence of this ostensibly pagan image in a secondary context raises some interesting ques-
tions with respect to the transition from paganism to Christianity in Cyprus. The appropriation of
pagan religious iconography within Early Christian symbolism is a common one, and the weight of
the evidence here suggests the statuette may have provided a suitable icon for a Christian god who
was now worshiped as the ‘Good Shepherd’” (Counts 2010, 135).
8 Seux 1967, in particular pp. 147–148 and 436–437 (labbu, piri , ‘lion’).
9 “Kings undertook this activity at all times for a wide variety of reasons such as for amusement and
sportive activity. It formed not only a privilege but also an obligation for them, because in so doing
they had to meet the demands, which were assigned to them as the ruler of their people. Therefore
the hunt gained particular importance in the life of the royal court. Precisely because of the promi-
The Lion, the Shepherd, and the Master of Animals 17
od, the lion is indeed present through the motif of the royal hunt, among other animals.
At this point, one should be reminded that this figure is not metaphorical: “The gods
Ninurta and [Nergal, who love my priesthood, gave to me the wild beasts and command-
ed me to hunt]. 300 lions [... with my fierce] valor [...] six strong [wild] virile [bulls] with
horns [... from my ... chariot] and on [my swift] feet, [in my] second regnal year, [... with
my] sharp [arrows] I [... The remainder of the numerous animals] and the winged birds
of the sky, [wild game which I acquired, their names are not written with these] animals,
[their numbers are not written with these numbers]” (Aššur-bel-kala 02, iii 29’). 10
Clearly the royal hunt is an organized event and is associated with the gathering of
herds of diverse species (Aššur-bel-kala 07, iv). This organization is also a royal demonstra-
tion as the king enters the stage to be victorious in the eyes of all, his people, vassals and
enemies. In this way, the scene recreates a microcosm of the world: the animals represent
the forces of the universe, both positive and negative ones.
Lions are also part of the architecture of Assyrian buildings and, interestingly, texts
bear testimony to this visual representation of the cosmic empire and its well-ordered
movement from center to periphery. The animals are messengers of both aggression and
protection: they defend the palace in a double manner. They (somehow) endow the monu-
ments and their resident with their very power and terror. This analysis is based on the in-
scriptions from the reign of Aššur-bel-kala, yet it is confirmed by the inscriptions from the
reigns of Aššur-reša-iši, Šamši-Adad IV and Tiglath-pileser I 11 as well as from those of the
Neo-Assyrian period, Adad-nerari III, Aššur-dan II, Ashurnasirpal, Tiglath-pileser III,
and Sennacherib. 12 One may note, moreover, in the inscriptions from Ashurnasirpal II the
apparition of the royal and leonine title: “At that time my sovereignty, my dominion, (and)
my power came forth at the command of the great gods; I am king, I am lord, I am praise-
worthy, I am exalted, I am important, I am magnificent, I am foremost, I am a hero, I am a
warrior, I am a lion, and I am virile; Ashurnasirpal, strong king, king of Assyria, designate
of the god S n, favorite of the god Anu, loved one of the god Adad (who is) almighty among
nence which it gained as actual exercise for kings, it also developed into a literary and artistic topos,
which might display a manifold symbolism, but need not be connected with actual hunting events.
The ideas which are associated with the royal hunt trace their origins back to the cultures of the an-
cient Near East; (…) the same ideas were not only perpetuated during the reign of the Achaemenids,
after the conquest of the Assyrian and the Neo-Babylonian Empires by Cyrus the Great, but also
conveyed the same meaning in the time of Alexander the Great and his diadochs, and, furthermore,
were consciously utilised for political reasons” (Seyer 2006, 171–172).
10 See Aššur-bel-kala 03, 1’. All Assyrian royal inscriptions are quoted from The Royal Inscriptions of
Assyria online (RIAo) Project: http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/riao/
11 Aššur-reša-iši I 01, 8; 02, 3 (lions at the entrance of the temple of Ištar), Šamši-Adad IV 3, 1’ (monu-
mental lions), Tiglath-pileser I 01, vi 76 (hunt).
12 Adad-nerari III 2010, 19 (monumental lions), Aššur-dan II 1, 68 (hunt), Ashurnasirpal II 002, 31b
(hunt and zoo); 002, 35 (zoo); 002, 40 (hunt); 019, 30 (hunt); 028, v 7b (religious architecture); 030,
84b (hunt); 030, 95 (breeding); Tiglath-pileser III 47, r 29’b (architecture); 2001, 1 (architecture),
Sennacherib 1, 83; 2, 60; 15, vi 61; 16, vi 74; 17, vi 89; 17, vii 9; 17, vii 26; 39, 51b; 39, 61b; 40, 31’’b;
40, 37’b; 41, 2’’; 42, 22’; 42, 28’b; 42, 33’b; 43, 73; 43, 79b; 43, 85b (architecture).
the gods, I, the merciless weapon which lays low lands hostile to him, I, the king, capable in
battle, vanquisher of cities and highlands” (Ashurnasirpal II 001, I 31b). 13
The title knows of a particular development especially in Sennacherib’s inscriptions:
“When they reported his (Marduk-apla-iddina’s) evil deeds to me, Sennacherib, the at-
tentive man of the steppe, I raged up like a lion and ordered the march into Babylon to
confront him. He (Marduk-apla-iddina), the (very) image of an evil gallû-demon, heard
about the advance of my expeditionary force, then he reinforced their companies with
horses (and) Elamite, Aramean, (and) Chaldean archers” (Sennacherib 1, 16). 14
Though not all references to lions documented in the sources are metaphors, the image
develops in a metaphorical way, endowing the Assyrian king with the qualities and force
of the lion. However, the leonine metaphor is not unique in representing royal and impe-
rial governance of the world.
The Shepherd in Mesopotamian Royal Inscriptions
In Mesopotamia, Akkadian rēûtu or ‘shepherdship’ is the office divinely created for the
benefit of humankind. In the Epic of Etana Ištar goes in search of a shepherd at the be-
ginning of history, and the same idea is found in the Graeco-Babylonian author Berossos.
The role of the shepherd as divinely sanctioned is essential and even rulers who are them-
selves outsiders, as Cyrus the Great, for example, portrayed themselves as shepherd (cf.
Cyrus Cylinder).
The image of the shepherd is found in the royal titles all through the medio- and
neo-Assyrian periods. 15 Thus Aššur-nādin-apli proclaims: “Aššur-nādin-apli, appointee
of the god Enlil, vice-regent of the god Aššur, strong king, king of all people, prince, king
of kings, faithful shepherd, to whom by the command of the gods Aššur, Enlil, and Šamaš
the just scepter was given and whose important name was called for the return of the land,
the king under the protective hand of the god Anu and select of the god Enlil, chosen
of the gods Aššur and Šamaš, I, son of Tukult -Ninurta (I), appointee of the god Enlil,
vice-regent of the god Aššur; son of Shalmaneser (I) (who was) also appointee of the god
Enlil (and) vice-regent of the god Aššur” (Aššur-nadin-apli 1, 1).
If the image of the ‘faithful shepherd’ is frequent, 16 many variants are attested:
‘shepherd of all the settlements’, 17 ‘shepherd of mankind’, 18 ‘attentive shepherd’, 19 ‘chief
13 See also Ashurnasirpal II 017, i 35; 020, 40b.

14 See also Sennacherib 1, 25; 18, v 11’b; 22, v 67b; 23, v 57.
15 Seux 1967, in particular pp. 243–250 and 441–446 (re’ û, ‘graze’; rē’ û, sipa, ‘shepherd’).
16 See Shalmaneser I 01, 107; Tiglath-pileser I 01, i 28; 02, 11; 10, 1; 11, 1; 14, 1.
17 Shalmaneser I 01, 1.
18 Shalmaneser I 04, 1; 18, 1.
19 Tiglath-pileser I 01, i 15; 02, 7; Tukulti-Ninurta I 01, i 1; 39, 1.
herdsman’, 20 ‘pious shepherd’, 21 and later on ‘capable shepherd’, 22 ‘obedient shepherd’, 23

‘shepherd of the black-headed’, 24 ‘true shepherd’. 25 The image is further developed: ‘for
shepherding the land and people’, 26 ‘shepherding in truth and justice’, 27 ‘shepherding all
of the people’, 28 ‘you entrus[ted] me with shepherding Assyria’, 29 ‘the one who shepherds
the four quarters (at the heels of the god Šamaš)’, 30 ‘the shepherd who has charge over
them, [and the herdsman] who properly administers them’. 31
Longer developments may also be quoted: “When Aššur, my lord, faithfully chose me
to worship him, gave me the scepter for my office of shepherd, (presented) me, in addition,
the staff for my office of herdsman, granted me excellence so that I might slay my enemies
(and) subdue those who do not fear me, (and) placed upon me the lordly crown; (at that
time) I set my foot upon the neck of the lands (and) shepherded the extensive black-headed
people like animals. He (Aššur) teaches me just decisions. Like ... the Anunnak gods ...
the gods ... the strength” (Tukulti-Ninurta I 01, I 21). 32
The image is also associated with green pastures (cf. Tiglath-pileser III 35, I 21–35) 33 or
the pacific symbol of the shepherd’s staff (Ashurbanipal 115, 20). The royal title undoubt-
edly bears a territorial/cosmic dimension, a democratic one in the sense that the king is
committed to his people, and, finally, a religious and cultic dimension. While the matter
of protection is indeed important and overlaps with the defensive and aggressive leonine
aspects, the pacific asset is more essential to the image of the shepherd. Therefore, it be-
comes clear that the two images of the lion and the shepherd interact with each other and
in this way considerably enrich the positive and forceful representation of sovereignty in
Assyrian royal inscriptions.
It is also important to consider the spatiality of the images and their intersection as
the lion belongs to steppes and deserts, whereas the shepherd is located in more protected
spaces and in charge of domestic animals. Indeed, the absence of the Master of animals is
notorious in these textual sources all the more so because it is found in the iconographic
records of the time, whereas that of the shepherd has never been identified as such. Is it
possible that the iconography of the Master of animals re ect precisely this interaction we
have analyzed between the leonine image and that of the shepherd?
20 Tiglath-pileser I 01, i 28.

21 Sennacherib 1, 1; 2, 1; 3, 1; 4, 1; 8, 1; 9, 1.
22 Sennacherib 5, 1; 15, i 1; 16, i 1; 17, i 1; 22, i 1.
23 Ashurbanipal 116, 1; 117,1; 118,1; Aššur-etel-ilāni 5, 1.
24 Aššur-etel-ilāni 4, 2.
25 Esarhaddon 104, i 1; 105, i 1; 109, i 1’; 113, 1.
26 Sennacherib 1, 93; 2, 70; 3, 62; 4, 93; 5, 1’; 7, 7’; 8, 19’; 10, 23; 15, viii 19’’; 16, viii 64; 17, viii 77; 18, viii
14’’’b.
27 See also Esarhaddon 104, vi 1; 105, vii 42b; 110, ii’ 1’.
28 Esarhaddon 109, i 13’.
29 Esarhaddon 104, ii 9b; 105, ii 22b; 114, ii 19.
30 Tukulti-Ninurta I 01, i 1; 05, 1; 10, 1; 13, 1; 16, 1.
31 Tukulti-Ninurta I 01, iv 37; 02, 37; 08, 11’; 09, 28’; 23, 85.
32 See also Tukulti-Ninurta I 10, 15; I 23, 1.
33 See also Tiglath-pileser III 35, ii 15’b.
We have thus shown how the images of the lion, the shepherd and the Master of animals
interacted in the sources underlying the representation of power in the Assyrian empire.
This interaction – it has to be noted – concerns not only the images themselves, the lion
as element B, the shepherd as element C, and the Master of animals as element D, but also
the nature of the sources, textual and iconographic. For the king as element A or, more
precisely, the representation of his sovereignty is brought to a fuller definition through the
interaction of sources and, what interests us most here, through metaphorical interaction.
The Lion in Levantine Sources
B.A. Strawn has extensively analyzed the image of the lion in ancient sources and more
particularly in the Levant. 34 It thus seems unnecessary in this short contribution to review
all the material. Let us recall that the analysis of the lion in the archaeological record of
ancient Israel/Palestine from 1500–332 BCE shows the common association of the lion
with sovereignty and diverse deities. Thus, the presence of lion artifacts in cultic and offi-
cial contexts is abundant and displays evidence of artistic connections with other regions.
Moreover, the image of the lion as trope of threat and power is relatively stable across the
different data. The use of the image in relation with hwh is similar in many ways in com-
parative and archaeological contexts: hwh is likened to a lion (Isa 38:13; cf. Lam 3:10) who
has broken the bones of Hezekiah. The lion can also become the lion chaser against those
who stalk Israel as a lion (Jer 49:19; Jer 50:44). This is a figure of speech to designate Isra-
el’s enemies, a picture of pride, strength, and rapacity (Jer 4:7; 5:6; Joel 1:6; Nah 2:12–14).
Finally, lions may be sent against lions (2 Kgs 17:25). The use of the lion as an image for
the enemy is also similar but somewhat more pronounced in the Hebrew Bible (esp. in the
Psa 7:3; 10:9; 17:12; 22:14, 22). Possible explanations are offered by the author for hwh’s
leonine profile. It could stem from the storm-god composite Baal-Seth or, more probably,
from the tradition of violent leonine goddesses (especially Sekhmet and Ištar) or, simply
from the use of militant lion metaphors in ancient Near Eastern royal inscriptions.
However, B.A. Strawn shows how the use of the lion imagery in relation to the mon-
arch was muted in the biblical text when compared to other and archaeological materials.
This has been rightly developed by Hugh Pyper who insists on the glaring biblical omis-
sion of the lion as figure of a monarch: there is no celebration of the king as displaying
the power of the lion against his enemies, nor of the king as the great protector of his
people against lions, real or metaphorical (except maybe the young David as shepherd
slaying lions in 1 Sam 17:34–37). Kingly/royal and human power or position are thus never
praised in metaphors involving the lion. 35 Obviously this testifies to the highly reworked
nature of the biblical text: no human king in the history of Israel is deemed worthy of
such metaphor.
34 Strawn 2015, 2009, and 2005, in particular pp. 188–192.

35 This is in turn developed by Pyper 2014.
The Shepherd in Levantine Sources
The image of the shepherd has been so extensively studied that it does not seem necessary
here to look at the sources over again. 36 I would like to underline Diana V. Edelman’s
contribution on the topic from the point of view of rhetorical strategies that might be
considered more meaningful in their interactive mode. 37 Four strategies for expressing
Israel’s enjoyment of a unique relationship with the deity are explored. Let us recall them:
1) Israel as hwh’s people, nation or treasure that has been chosen, set apart or known; 2)
Israel as hwh’s ock; 3) Israel as hwh’s garden; and 4) Israel as hwh’s covenantal vas-
sal/son. These strategies assert and reassure that Israel constitutes a unique group in rela-
tion to the deity. Let us take a closer look at the shepherd and ock imagery (cf. Psa 44:12;
74:1; 77:21; 78.52; 79:13; 80:2; 95:7; 100:3; Isa 40:11; Mic 2:12; 7:14.): Israel appears as hwh’s
property and possession. In several passages, the deity is said to scatter his own ock,
Israel, or strike it with plague (1 Chron 21:17; Psa 44:11.22; 74:1; Zech 13:7). In these, hwh
acknowledges Israel as his and himself as the divine shepherd, with or without an ap-
pointed human overseer. In Deutero-Isaiah, the people acknowledge they are sheep who
have strayed and followed their own path, implicitly rejecting the one specified by their di-
vine shepherd (Isa 53:6). Such disobedience triggers direct divine intervention to chastise
the wayward ock, as in Psa 44:11.22 and Psa 74:1. In this case, the sheep themselves must
bear responsibility for straying; there is no shepherd who has been lax or inattentive to be
punished in their stead. Interestingly, in other passages the scattering is done by another,
either a foreign king or a domestic kingly shepherd entrusted with their care, feeding, and
protection but who have not carried out their appointed tasks (1 Kgs 22:17 = 2 Chron 18:16;
Jer 13:20; Ezek 34:1–34). These passages assume that hwh is the only owner of Israel and
so controls its fate as well as the fate of those appointed to shepherd it on earth. The inter-
esting point of the analysis is to bring out clearly how the same image can be nuanced in
very different narratives and how roles may be exchanged: the good shepherd might not in
fact be always so good as he disperses as well as gathers his own property and possession. I
would now like to pursue the analysis and bring in the lion metaphor as it is expanded in a
particular manner, in interaction with that of the shepherd in the book of Amos.
At this point and in contradistinction to Assyrian sources, the shepherd metaphor in
biblical texts is lengthily reworked and not necessarily positive, while the lion metaphor,
as we have shown, is absent in relation to human kingship. Certainly, the nature of the
sources account for such differences, as Assyrian royal inscriptions are primary sources
contrary to biblical texts transmitted over centuries and copied by skillful as well as polit-
ical scribes. Interestingly biblical scribes did not fear to re ect upon ancient Near Eastern
and common royal or divine images: they did not fear in fact to deconstruct them.
36 George 2015; Bailey 2014; Baxter 2011 and 2012; Gan 2007; Laniak 2006; Van Hecke (ed) 2005; Selz
2001; Hunziker-Rodewald 2001; Greer 1999; Derret 1973.
37 Edelman 2016.
The Book of Amos
The first collection of the book of Amos is introduced by verse 2: “And hwh said
(‫)ויאמר יהוה‬: from Zion he roars (‫)מציון ישאג‬, and from Jerusalem he utters his voice; the
pastures of the shepherds wither / lament (‫)ואבלו נאות הרעים‬, and the top of Carmel dries
up.” We notice at once the association of the images of the lion (through roaring) and
of the shepherds (through the pastures). We also notice that after the incipit of the first
verse, one might consider verse 2 as opening not only the first collection of oracles but also
the whole booklet, so much so that the leonine figure runs through it (1:2; 3:4.8.12; 5:19;
9:3). 38 Even more, as the subject of the verb ‘to roar’ may have remained undetermined
(according to the Massoretic accentuation), the interpretation of the figure is somehow
suspended, though the subject, that is, Yhwh is in close relation. Let us follow now the
narrative thread of this leonine image before we propose an interactive interpretation of
this metaphor and that of the shepherd. The lion reappears again in an oracle of condem-
nation framed in rhetorical interrogations: “Does a lion roar in the forest, when it has no
prey? Does a young lion cry out from its den, if it has caught nothing?” (3:4).
“The lion has roared; who will not fear? The Lord Yhwh has spoken; who can but
prophesy?” (3:8).
“Thus says Yhwh: As the shepherd rescues from the mouth of the lion two legs, or a
piece of an ear, so shall the people of Israel who live/reign in Samaria be rescued, with the
corner of a couch and part 39 of a bed” (3:12).
The announcement of the great tragedy striking Samaria is sustained by the image that
has introduced the whole book (1:2) and characterized the oracles of the nations, the im-
age of the lion (3:4.8.12). But whereas the interpretation of the leonine figure could remain
open in verse 1:2, it is specified as the subject is now clearly named (3:4.8). Here one can
say that the metaphor is extended: if the lion is first named in a comparison of a proverbial
type in 3:4, in the course of the rhetorical questions, it is indeed the divine figure that is
contemplated: the prey that Israel has become is already in Yhwh’s claws and the evil has
been done! Verse 3:8 confirms the verdict of the lion- hwh but also brings in the figure of
the prophet as a roaring one. Moreover, the shepherd comes in as he saves or rather cannot
save his ock from the lion (3:12). 40 The indetermination of verse 1:2 is indeed verified as
the action of roaring is closely associated not only with the divine subject but also with
the prophet.
If these first oracles in the book share common images, their association and the new
meaning they take on is all the more striking. Striking, also, is the ironic tone which, little
38 Strawn 2005, 2009 and 2015; Nahkola 2011.

39 See Eidevall 2017, in particular pp. 130–131, 133. Notice that the Septuagint reads ‘priests’ where
the Hebrew reads ‘bed’ (‫ )שרע‬and translates “in the city of Damascus” where the parallelism would
imply some part of a bed.
40 The image of v. 12 seems to refer to some judicial usage: when a shepherd (pro)claimed his ock
to have been attacked, he had to justify the attack to the owner of the ock by showing the animal
remains (Exod 22:9–12; cf. Gen 37:29–36. See Hadjiev 2008).
by little, colors them. Indeed, the metaphor of the lion that closely associates that of the
shepherd in 3:12 presents this last figure, by definition a figure of protection, as one of
failure: if the shepherd saves two legs and a piece of ear, it means that the animal is lost,
is dead. It is true however that these ‘saved’ parties testify to the shepherd that he is not
responsible for the loss of the animal, as the Covenant Code makes clear (cf. Exod 22:12).
A figure of failure but justified, we could say! What can the shepherd do against the lion?
Still, one must underline the use of the verb ‘to save’ that does point to the fact that all
is not lost. The responsibility of the shepherd is engaged but he is not wronged. It is here
that the irony creeps into the text, since what has been saved is in fact dead! And this irony
continues: “as if someone ed from a lion, and was met by a bear; or went into the house
and rested a hand against the wall, and was bitten by a snake” (5:19). The irony is striking
and bitter. This time the lion may only terrify its prey, it cannot kill it! But the association
or interaction between the lion and the shepherd goes one step further, if one remembers
that Amos himself has been defined as a shepherd. The title or function of Amos is given
in the opening of the book (‫עמוס אשר היה בנקדים‬s, 1:1): Amos is nqēd, a term that is usu-
ally understood as ‘shepherd’ or ‘breeder’, the unique other reference to the term being
found in 2 Kgs 3:4 concerning the king of Moab. This understanding, however, is assured
from parallels in other Semitic languages, Ugaritic, Akkadian and Arab, 41 as well as by the
term bqer found in the narrative of the expulsion of Amos from the sanctuary of Bethel
(7:14). 42 In this narrative, Amos explains that he is no prophet, nabî’, but herdsman (‫כי‬
‫)בוקר אנכי‬, and dresser of sycamore trees: “and hwh took me from following the ock”
(‫ויקחני יהוה מאחרי הצאן‬T, 7,5 cf. 2 S 7:8). The image of the shepherd is, as we have just seen,
one of strong political and theological implication: kings like divine shepherds are called
to conduct and protect their people. In the biblical texts, shepherds of their people, kings
and prophets are called by the deity hwh, himself the shepherd par excellence (Jer 3:17;
13:17; 23:1–6; 31:10–14; Ezek 34; Hos 13:4–8; etc.). There is without doubt a common motif
hereby recontextualized in a way that it may constitute nothing less than a critique of the
prophetic institution in the time of the monarchy in Israel. 43 However, my purpose here
is to insist on the interaction between the leonine metaphor and the shepherd’s one along
with the interaction between the subjects that are Yhwh and his prophet. By metaphorical
play and interaction, the two subjects, Yhwh (A) and Amos (A’) are brought into relation
with the lion (B), through the actions of roaring and killing, on the one hand, and the
shepherd (C), as protector who eventually ends in failure, on the other. In this way, the
meaning of the metaphors is not so much in their separate study (A/B; A/C; A’/B; A’/C)
but in their interaction (A-A’/B/C). The originality lies in the close association of the
41 See Wilson 2018, specifically p. 319; Craigie 1982.

42 Dijkstra 2001.
43 Schmid 2018 , in particular p. 109: “But the basic problem of institutionally-rooted prophecy be-
comes clear here, since the expectations imposed upon it can end up determining its content—a
situation from which contemporary experts are likewise not immune. (…) The prophet Amos states,
“I am no prophet.” This statement is only understandable against the sociological background that
2 Kings 22 illustrates. Amos does not deny that he utters prophecies, but he does distance himself
from the institutional prophets who provide their expertise about future contingencies.”
two subjects as well as in the interaction of the two metaphors that are the lion and the
shepherd. Lion’s and shepherd’s imagery lend their qualities to divine as well as prophetic
sovereignty and enrich considerably their representation. The absence of a human mon-
arch in this interaction seems obvious in light of the historical failure of both northern
and southern kingdoms. The image depicting the shepherd, whether divine or prophetic,
as a failure in the end is very interesting indeed! Biblical scribes in the Book of Amos have
made use of common images and metaphors but they have blurred the referent of these
images and have deconstructed the intended meaning: when the prey has died with two
legs only left, what could anyone do? The effect is of the greatest irony: all intended met-
aphorical content is lost.
Concluding Remarks
As a conclusion, let us sum up our analysis and results. We have shown how the images
of the lion, the shepherd and the Master of animals interacted in Mesopotamian sources
making greater sense of the representation of power especially in the Assyrian empire.
This interaction concerned the images themselves as well as the nature of the sources,
textual and iconographic.
In contradistinction to Assyrian sources, it has been shown how the shepherd meta-
phor in biblical texts was lengthily reworked and is not necessarily positive, while the lion
metaphor is absent in relation to human kingship. Certainly, the nature of the sources
account for such differences, as Assyrian royal inscriptions are primary sources contrary
to biblical texts transmitted over centuries. However, biblical scribes were not afraid of
re ecting upon common royal or divine images, even to the point of ironically decon-
structing them as the book of Amos testifies.
Therefore, the force of these metaphors lies in their association: they make full sense
in their interactive interpretation, one together with other. This multiplication of sense
gives to the representation of power and sovereignty something absolute: not being lim-
ited by one unique image and its interpretation, it is enriched by multiple images which
interactive interpretation can only add to the cosmic and indeed divine representation of
kinship, or not, as in the book of Amos.
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Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East, Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 212, Fribourg/
Göttingen: Academic Press Fribourg/Vandenhoeck&Ruprecht.
—. 2009, “Whence Leonine ahweh?: Iconography and the History of Israelite Religion”,
in: M. Nissinen – Ch.E. Carter (eds), Images and Prophecy in the Ancient Eastern Med-
iterranean, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck Ruprecht, 51–85.
—. 2015, “Lion Hunting in the Psalms: Iconography and Images for God, the Self, and the
Enemy”, in: I.J. de Hulster – B.A. Strawn – R.P. Bonfiglio (eds), Iconographic Exegesis
of the Hebrew Bible-Old Testament: An Introduction to its Method and Practice, Göttin-
gen: Vandenhoeck Ruprecht, 245–261.
Van Hecke, P. 2005, “Pastoral Metaphors in the Hebrew Bible and its Ancient Near East-
ern Context”, in: R.P. Gordon – J.C. de Moor (eds), The Old Testament in its World,
Leiden: Brill, 200–217.
Watanabe, C.E. 1998, “Symbolism of the Royal Lion Hunt in Assyria”, in: J. Prosecky
(ed), Intellectual Life of the Ancient Near East, Praha: Academy of Sciences of the Czech
Republic Oriental Institute, 439–450.
—. 2000, “The Lion Metaphor in the Mesopotamian Royal Context”, Topoi suppl. 2,
399–409.
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in: C.A. Rollston (ed), Enemies and Friends of the State: Ancient Prophecy in Context,
Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 313–328.
Online resources
The Royal Inscriptions of Assyria online (RIAo) Project: http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/

riao/
To Serve WomanĨ
Je ebel, Anat, and the Metaphor of Women as Foodġ
Esther Brownsmith (Brandeis University)
I begin with two quotations that feature the Semitic hollow root Ṣ-D, ‘to hunt prey’.
The first is from Aqhat, 1 said to the goddess Anat: “The bow is a warrior’s [weapon]; do
women now go hunting (Ṣ-D)?”. It establishes Aqhat’s gender norms: according to him,
women like her should not go hunting. But the second quotation is from Proverbs 6:26
concerning adultery: “A prostitute is worth a loaf of bread, but a man’s wife goes hunting
(‫תצוּד‬,ָ Ṣ-D) for precious life.” Some women do hunt – but they are adulteresses, and their
prey is the men they sleep with. In contrast, prostitutes are a relatively acceptable alterna-
tive, associated with a benign loaf of bread. 2
These quotes encapsulate examples of two kinds of women in ancient Levantine social
norms: those who hunt men, and those who are consumed by men. The latter image is a
well-attested metaphor in the Bible, but this paper is primarily interested in the other cate-
gory of women – those who break metaphoric expectations by consuming food instead of
becoming food. One of those women is Anat; the other is Queen Jezebel. Through their
intertwined stories, we can more closely examine the central importance of metaphorical-
ly conceptualizing women as food, and the bloody consequences of subverting the meta-
phor. Both Jezebel and Anat are powerful and violent female figures, yet their fates diverge
dramatically; Anat remains a perpetually young and triumphant goddess, while Jezebel is
murdered and eaten by dogs.
¬ This is the expanded version of a paper presented at the 2019 RAI Conference in the section, “Re-
searching Metaphor in the Ancient Near East: Perspectives from Texts and Images.” My thanks to
Marta Pallavidini and Ludovico Portuese for organizing an excellent session. This paper represents
a modified excerpt from my forthcoming dissertation, Inconspicuous Consumption: Conceptual Met-
aphors of Women as Food in the Deuteronomistic History.
1 KTU 1.17 VI 39–40: qštm ... mhrm. ht.tṣdn.tintt bh .
2 Technically, the Proverbs quotation is not a metaphor; the prostitute is worth a bread loaf, not like
a bread loaf. However, this distinction is less clear than it might seem. The Hebrew term for worth
(‫ ) ַדע ְב‬is a hapax legomenon in this particular sense, and even if it does mean ‘value, exchange rate’, it
still evokes a metaphoric association – just as saying that a woman “is worth precious jewels” associ-
ates her with the beauty of those jewels, not just their monetary cost. As support for this association,
the Targum for this verse says that the prostitute is comparable to (‫ )ימד‬the bread, the Aramaic cog-
nate of Hebrew ‫– המד‬ to be likened to something.
DOI: 10.13173/9783447114370.029
30 Esther Brownsmith
On Realized Metaphors
Before turning to the narratives, I will make a brief theoretical distinction. Most metaphor
study has been conducted on linguistic metaphor, e.g. “My spirits are high today.” As Lak-
off and Johnson demonstrated in Metaphors We Live By, these linguistic metaphors re ect
an underlying conceptual metaphor – in this case, happiness is up. But conceptual meta-
phors can also manifest in non-linguistic ways, such as visual images, sounds, and narrative
elements. It is this last category that most concerns me. When a metaphor is expressed with
a vehicle that is literally true within the narrative, it becomes a realized metaphor. 3
Example 1:
In the sentence, “the memories of my father haunt me”, the speaker uses the con-
ceptual metaphor, unfinished business is a ghost. But in the play Hamlet, a literal
ghost appears to convict Hamlet of his father’s unfinished business – a realization
of the metaphor. 4
Realized metaphors are most common in supernatural or surrealist literary contexts, but
they occur in a subtler form throughout all literature. While realized metaphors have
not been studied extensively within ancient Near Eastern literature, numerous examples
exist – both of straightforward realized metaphors and of their inversion. For an example
of the latter, I turn brie y to the book of Jonah.
Example 2:
A common biblical conceptual metaphor is faithful behavior is a journey, which

appears in countless linguistic instances. 5 Knowing this metaphor of “following
God”, then, an audience would find it perfectly fitting that Jonah disobeyed
God’s calling by hopping on a ship and literally traveling in the opposite direction
3 As Erickson explains it, “Here we have an example of what the Russian Formalists labeled ‘realization
of metaphor’: the metaphor’s secondary frame of reference is posited as existing within the textual
world, where it would usually only be considered present within the reader’s imagination” (Erickson
2009, 18). Cho (2019) discusses this technique in terms of Ricoeur’s theories of metaphor, which
develop from Aristotelian concepts like muthos [plot]. When Cho emphasizes that “the muthos of a
literary work can be a metaphor for the world outside literature” (ibid.,30), he is referring to the phe-
nomenon of realized metaphors. In this paper, for the sake of simplicity, I use the language of realized
metaphors rather than Ricoeur’s terminology, sacrificing the nuance and exibility of the latter.
4 Cf. the discussion in Erickson 2009, 2–4 for further discussion of this specific realized metaphor.
5 For example, Ps. 119 begins, “Happy are those whose way is blameless, who walk in the law of the
LORD.” Occurrences of this metaphor are too frequent to count; TWOT notes that “The expres-
sion hlk aĸ r ‘to follow after’ is immediately and fully comprehensible to Israelites conversant with
nomadic life and can consequently be used to describe the totality of the communal and individual
life-style” and provides numerous examples (TWOT, ‫)ךלה‬.
The Serve Woman: Jezebel, Anat, and the Metaphor of Women as Food 31
(Jonah 1:3). In this realized metaphor, Jonah is refusing to follow God’s path in the
most literal sense, and negative consequences naturally follow.
As this example illustrates, realized metaphors play upon well-established, even “dead”,
metaphors; by re ecting a metaphor already established in the audience’s mind, they can
make plot elements seem natural and expected.
Now I focus on one specific metaphor: woman is food. This metaphor is abundant in
English, where we call women “tarts” or “cheesecakes”, and it has been studied in various
languages and manifestations. 6 In the Bible, we see this metaphor when the man in Song of
ֵ ‫פ ְַר‬, Song 4:13), among
Songs calls his lover’s body “a paradise of pomegranates” (‫דס ִרמּוֹניִ ם‬
many culinary metaphors. 7 I have argued elsewhere for its realized appearance in passages
such as Judges 19, where the Levite’s unfortunate concubine is objectified, dismembered,
and metaphorically consumed as fuel for revenge, using language that evokes meat butchery.
Outside the Bible, in the ancient Near East, culinary metaphors for women abound
in the linguistic realm; for instance, in an Old Babylonian love poem, the male lover de-
scribes his beloved: “Like honey, she is sweet to the nose; like wine, [her] mood is fruity
freshness.” 8 For an example of the metaphor realized in narrative, I turn to a portion of in
the Ugaritic text KTU 1.23, the so-called Feast of the Goodly Gods. 9 The god Ilu has been
walking on the beach when he encounters two women and is aroused by their behavior. 10
In response, he engages in some curious archery and cookery.
Example : KTU 1.2 . –
Ilu has pulled out his “staff”; l. h.n t

Ilu has palmed the “rod” with his hand. l . ymnn . m . ydh
Raising it, he shoots skyward: yš . yr . šmmh
6 See, for instance, Hines 1999; Weingarten 2009; Crespo-Fern ndez 2015, 153–161; Lupez Rodr guez
2008.
7 For discussion of the culinary metaphors in Song of Songs, cf. especially Brenner 1999, but also
Hunt 2008; Meredith 2018; Munro 1995, especially chapter 3.
8 CUSAS 10 8:7–9: ki-ma di-iš-pi-im ṭa-ba-at a-na ap -pi-i-im ki-ma ka-ra-nim eš-ši-et in-bi ka-ab-
ta-tu. Of the latter line, George notes: “just as wine’s ripe fruitiness makes it good to drink, so the
girl’s newly mature ‘fruits’ create around her an irresistible sexual allure. Fruit and gardens are stock
metaphors for genitals, sexual attraction and desire in Babylonian and other ancient Near Eastern
love poetry.” (George 2009, 52).
9 The lengthiest discussion of this text is Smith 2006, but see also Scurlock 2011 and Pardee 2003.
10 The exact nature of that behavior is unclear and much-debated. The women are called mšt ltm, a
word for which various etymologies have been proposed (cf. Smith 2006, 74–76 for an overview). I
concur with Pardee 2003, who reads it as a Št participle of the verb ly, but come to a different conclu-
sion of its sense: as he notes, the Š of ly can mean ‘to mount sexually’ so the re exive participle could
mean ‘women who mount each other sexually’. The rest of their actions align with this meaning: Ilu
watches as they move up and down, “head to ‘basin’” (l r š . gn). After witnessing their mutual oral
sex, Ilu’s arousal is immediate.
he has shot a bird from the sky! yr . b šmm . r

Plucking it, he puts it on the embers: y r yšt . l p m
in this way, Ilu seduces 11 the women. l . tm . k ypt
When Ilu aims his “staff” at the sky to shoot down a bird, plucks it, and eats it, the ac-
tions are both narrative and metaphorical; he is showing the women an innuendo-laden
metaphor of what he wishes to do to them. In short, the conceptual metaphor woman is
food was well-known to the ancient Levantine mind, and we see it manifested both lin-
guistically and in narrative realization. Through this lens, then, I will analyze two ancient
female characters – Jezebel and Anat – whose stories intersect with food in numerous and
complex ways.
Jezebel, the Eaten Eater
Jezebel’s characterization in the Bible comes from a handful of passages, and primarily
from two texts: the story of Naboth’s vineyard, and the story of her death. 12 These tales
take place at two very different points – and through inverted metaphorical lenses. et
even before those stories, the narrator sets the scene in in 1 Kgs 18:19, when we hear of “the
four hundred fifty prophets of Baal, and the four hundred prophets of Asherah, who eat
at Jezebel’s table.”
Superficially, this simply indicates that Jezebel provided for their wellbeing; “they were
the queen’s subsidized clergy.” 13 Yet every other reference to guests eating at a ruler’s table
11 “The use of pt(y) here, if correctly analyzed as cognate with Heb. pth, denotes the act of a male con-
vincing a woman to engage in sexual activity” (Pardee 2003, 281). Cf. Smith 2006, 85–88 for a sum-
mary of various analyses of this passage, which are “quite divided” between assuming metaphorical
sexual activity and assuming literal preparation of a ritual aphrodesiac. Reading the passage as a
realized metaphor, of course, the answer is “both/and”: it is both a description of narrative action
and of metaphorical eroticism.
12 A note about dating: in general, the stories about Jezebel were once commonly considered to be
early, pre-Deuteronomistic tales utilized by the Deuteronomist (cf. Cogan 1974; Campbell and
O’Brien 2000). In 1998, however, Rofé wrote a persuasive historical-philological reexamination of
the Naboth story that noted various inconsistencies. Rofé concludes that the vineyard story was
written much later, in the “5th or 4th century”, when two of the central political issues were the dan-
ger of foreign wives and oppression by nobles (‫)ם יִ ר ֹח‬, as seen in Ezra-Nehemiah. The tale of Naboth’s
vineyard thus casts its villains as an archetypical Foreign Wife, who enlists the local nobles (‫)ם יִ ר ֹח‬
to do her dirty work (Rofé 1998). Cronauer extended a similar argument in his 2005. Indeed, his
examination of scholarship on the Naboth story is so comprehensive that this article does not redu-
plicate it, but the reader is referred there for an extensive discussion of the historical-critical debate
over the text (see Cronauer 2005). While I find Rofé and Cronauer persuasive, my most important
historical-critical assumption is that the various Jezebel stories were written by the same author, and
therefore can be analyzed in light of one another.
13 Montgomery and Gehman 1951, 300.
refers to kings, such as David or Solomon. 14 The reference to Jezebel here is thus highly
unexpected. It takes the common Deuteronomistic idiom of eating at a king’s table and
twists it: in Ahab’s Israel, the foreign queen has so much sway that she has usurped pre-
siding over the royal table. While dining was probably a metonym for provisions broader
than mere food, 15 it nonetheless focuses the reader’s attention on the role of eating in royal
favor. Thus, Jezebel is portrayed remarkably from an early point, as someone who unusu-
ally provides food for others – even usurping the role of her husband the king.
She continues this behavior in the story of Naboth. The tale begins with a contrast of
food: specifically, Naboth’s ancestral vineyard, compared to Ahab’s proposed vegetable
garden. As Appler explores at length, the vineyard is a classic metaphorical representation
of Israel, whereas gardens are status symbols for kings. 16 In particular, a vegetable garden
had associations as an Egyptian luxury, much better suited to a climate with ample water
to grow its cucumbers and garlic. 17 When Ahab’s desire for such a garden is thwarted,
he responds by refusing food petulantly: if he cannot grow vegetables in Naboth’s plot,
then he will not eat at all. In response, Jezebel chides him for not eating (1 Kgs 21:5), then
demands that he get up and begin to eat; again, her role is to provide food. In her study,
Shemesh notes that the structure of her demand, using the imperative verb ‫קום‬, is a famil-
iar form that usually appears when God is commanding a leader to arise and act. 18 In other
words, Jezebel is taking on the role of a deity with relation to Ahab.
Ironically, Jezebel solves Ahab’s food-production problem by declaring a fast – nor-
mally an indicator of tense times, perhaps implying an unnamed crisis that could be
blamed on Naboth. 19 But as a public gathering with ritualized norms, it serves some of
the social roles of a feast, and indeed this “feast” has a “main course”: Naboth, unjustly
accused of blasphemy, who is publicly killed to satisfy God’s purported demands. Finally,
Jezebel can provide the land to her husband, who goes to take possession – only to be held
accountable by the prophet Elijah. Elijah pronounces doom for Ahab and his people, but
he has a special curse for Jezebel: she herself will be eaten by dogs. And how does Ahab
respond to these prophecies? By, once again, fasting. His wife has provided illicit food for
him, so he gives up eating in hope of forgiveness.
In this story, we see Jezebel at the height of her power, procuring a blood-stained food
source for her mate. Yet in the eyes of an audience used to equating women with con-
sumed food, her behavior would seem exponentially unethical – not only was a man false-
ly executed for the sake of a vegetable plot, but the deed was done by a woman. 20 While
14 The idiom appears in 1 Kgs 2:7, 1 Kgs 18:19, 2 Sam 9:7,10,11,13, and 2 Sam 19:29, plus a related form
in 2 Kgs 25:29.
15 Cf. Gray 1963, 61; Cogan and Tadmore 1988, 174.
16 Appler 2004, 93–101.
17 Cf. Deut 11:10, Num 11:5. Seow notes that the change from auspicious vineyard to Egyptian garden
is “ominous” (Seow 1999, 155).
18 Shemesh 2015, 125.
19 Cf. Cogan and Tadmore 1988, 479; Seow 1999, 156.
20 Compare Judg 4:9, where Barak’s military victory is diminished because a woman helped achieve it.
there are appropriate venues for women to feed men in the Bible, 21 those venues do not
involve the woman going out and killing prey in order to acquire the food. Women can be
hostesses, but not huntresses.
Thus, using this metaphor as a lens, Elijah’s prophecy that “the dogs will eat Jezebel”
comes as “poetic justice” to the reader. 22 And indeed, in 2 Kings 9, we see it come true.
Carol Adams identifies three stages of the cycle in which meat or women are consumed.
“A subject first is viewed, or objectified, through metaphor. Through fragmentation the
object is severed from its ontological meaning. Finally, consumed, it exists only through
what it represents. The consumption of the referent reiterates its annihilation as a subject
of importance in itself.” 23 Each of these stages occurs to Jezebel in turn.
lĕs cti cation
Jezebel’s objectification actually begins even before she enters the scene. With her husband
Ahab dead, her son Joram rules Israel, and the usurper Jehu meets him in Jezreel, only to
engage in the time-honored tradition of insulting his opponent’s mother (2 Kgs 9:22).
‫ָמה ַה ָשּׁלוֹם ﬠַ ד־זְ נוּנֵ י ִאיזֶ ֶבל ִא ְמָּך וּכְ ָשׁ ֶפ ָיה ָה ַר ִבּים‬ “What harmony could exist while the
whoredoms and many witchcrafts of
your mother Jezebel endure?”
These accusations are strange, for despite the anti-Jezebel bias of the final text of Kings,
we have no evidence of Jezebel engaging in sexual infidelity or sorcerous behavior. In-
21 E.g. Abigail’s provisions (1 Sam 25), or Wisdom’s feast in Prov 9.

22 In his groundbreaking work Flesch argues that the timeless appeal of fiction hinges on a concept called
“altruistic punishment”: the desire to harm someone for their perceived violation of fairness, even at
a cost to ourselves. Altruistic punishment, he argues, is evolutionarily desirable, as the whole popula-
tion benefits when some people are “punishers.” As a result, “we instinctively approve of what altru-
istic punishers do”, and they comprise a very large proportion of our fictional protagonists, including
“almost any modern detective; and almost any modern superhero” (Flesch 2007, 52). The act (or an-
ticipation) of altruistic punishment motivates our emotional responses to the narrative: “We ourselves
can’t reward or punish the character we want to see rewarded or punished, but we can cheer on the
altruistic character who does – and the storyteller who arranges these things as well” (Ibid., 156).
This process of “vindication and vindictiveness” – i.e. the exoneration of prosocial actors and the
punishment of antisocial actors – is, Flesch argues, central to fiction: “all narratives of vindication
give pleasure, and ... narrative is only narrative if it allows us to anticipate vindication.” He supports
his point with a broad array of data, both psychological and literary, and his argument is persuasive.
It has clear implications for the Jezebel narrative: through her duplicitous killing of Naboth, Jezebel
establishes herself as an antisocial character, one who cannot be trusted to act fairly; the reasonable-
ness of Naboth’s refusal only makes her behavior more vile. As a result, the reader craves a fitting
vengeance upon the evil queen, and Jehu becomes our “altruistic punisher” – the hero who comes
in to right the violation of fairness.
23 Adams 1990, 73.
stead, this combination of terms functions to objectify her into a stereotype of dangerous
femininity, using language easily recognizable from prophetic texts. I now examine the
two accusations in turn.
Prostitution and infidelity, both signified by the Hebrew root ‫זנה‬, are in the word’s
original sense a behavior practiced only by women. 24 But through metaphoric association,
particularly in the Bible’s legal and prophetic texts, the term ‫ זנה‬came to have a second
common meaning: religious apostasy. 25 Therefore, the most simplistic explanation of this
passage is that by accusing Jezebel of whoredom, Jehu has accused her of practicing the
foreign religious practices of her Phoenician origins. 26 But such an explanation does not
sufficiently appreciate the gendered associations of the term. The only places where the verb
‫ זנה‬refers to individual acts, as opposed to a generalized group’s behavior, are instances with
a real or metaphorical woman as the subject. 27 In other words, prostitution may sometimes
metaphorically mean apostasy, but it occurs only in a collective sense with this meaning; an
individual male apostate is never described with ‫זנה‬. Thus, to accuse an individual woman
of prostitution/‫ זנה‬would be understood as signifying more than simple religious infidel-
ity. 28 Bembry’s analysis of the word concurs: “when ‫ זְ נוּנִ ם‬is used of one particular woman
and there is no mention of deities, it seems that the meaning is not metaphorical.” 29
This trend continues with the other accusation. ‫ כֶּ ֶשׁף‬is a fairly rare Hebrew word, but
it corresponds to the ubiquitous Akkadian kišpu, or sorcery. Just as Akkadian incanta-
tions against witchcraft, such as Maqlu, primarily focused on female practitioners, 30 so
do biblical instances of the term; all of its five appearances are practiced by a woman, real
or metaphorical. 31 In fact, in Nahum 3:4, the two accusations are again linked, this time
as the primary crimes of the personified city Nineveh, “who has bartered nations through
24 Bird 1989, 224.

25 Ibid.
26 Most major commentaries take this stance, e.g. Hobbs 1985, 116–117; Cogan and Tadmore 1988,
110. The latter argue that “‘harlotry’ expresses the contempt in which Israel held pagan practice,
seen as suffused with improper sex and magic” – thus associating the sexuality with an unnamed
religion rather than with a named woman.
27 ‫הנז‬-1 appears only five times in the Bible in the masculine singular Qal (excluding Ezek 23:43, where
the Qere is plural). These instances are either essentially plural meanings with a group or nation as
the subject (Deut 31:16; Ezek 6:9; Ps 73:27) or metaphors where the nation of Israel takes a masculine
verb, despite being portrayed metaphorically as a woman (Hos 4:15; Hos 9:1).
28 Compare Bird: “The men are accused of cultic impropriety, the women of sexual impropriety”
(Bird 1989, 232).
29 Bembry 2018, 535.
30 Abusch notes, “Although lists of witches include both male and female forms, the witch is usually
depicted as a woman” (Abusch 2015, 4). Stol concurs: “ordinary people imagined the perpetrator
to be a woman, and the Neo-Babylonian laws say that a woman is concerned with witchcraft” (Stol
2016, 391).
31 Aside from 2 Kings 9, the people accused of causing ‫ ף ֶ ׁש ּ ֶכ‬are “daughter Chaldea” (Isaiah 47:9,12);
“daughter Zion” (Micah 5:10; cf. Mic. 4:10,13); and a feminine-personified Nineveh (Nah. 3:4). Ad-
mittedly, the verb ‫ ףשׁכ‬is also sometimes used of men, but ‫ ף ֶ ׁש ּ ֶכ‬as a noun is solely the domain of
women.
her harlotries and clans with her witchcrafts (‫וּמ ְשׁ ָפּחוֹת ִבּכְ ָשׁ ֶפ ָיה‬ ַ Assyr-
ִ ‫)המֹּכֶ ֶרת גּוֹיִ ם ִבּזְ נוּנֶ ָיה‬.”
ia’s true crimes, as described in the surrounding passage, were neither prostitution nor
witchcraft, but military ruthlessness. However, the two gendered terms in combination
invoked a stereotyped image of the Bad, Foreign Woman, whose crimes are seductive and
insidious. We see a similar linkage in an Old Babylonian letter from the Mari archives, in
which a queen was sent through the divine river ordeal to answer multiple accusations:
“if your lady did sorcery against Yarkab-Addu, her lord; [or if she] sent out word from the
palace, and another man opened the thighs of your lady.” 32 Once again, witchcraft and
sexual infidelity are central to female wrongdoing.
We thus see that Jezebel’s description stereotypes her as a dangerous, seductive woman
in a way that runs deeper than mere foreign religion. Jehu – and through Jehu, the au-
thor – is, in fact, engaging in Adams’s first step of objectification, in which a living being
is reduced to a functional object. Put differently, the conceptual blend proposed by the
text includes the trait of “sexual object.” Indeed, sexualization is one of the most pervasive
ways of objectifying women, and we see it here with Jezebel as her death looms near: she is
reduced to a stereotype of sex and magic.
But just in case Jehu’s accusations were insufficient, the text turns to Jezebel herself a
few verses later and depicts her in the process of beautification, painting her eyes and ar-
ranging her hair (2K 9:30). As many have noted, this brings to mind the “naughty woman” 33
of prophetic metaphor. This narrative pause from the military action seems unexpected, 34
until we consider that it helps reinforce Jezebel’s objectification; like the prostitute she was
accused of being, she is concerned primarily with her appearance. In “Jézabel: Généalogie
d’une Femme Fatale”, Anne Létourneau argues persuasively that “la sexualisation est l’un
des principaux procédés mis en œuvre pour produire une altérisation radicale de Jézabel
comme l’Autre à abattre, surtout en 2 R 9,30–37.” 35 By portraying Jezebel as a femme fatale,
in Létourneau’s words, she is objectified as a potential object for consumption.
This connects back to the parallel accusation of witchcraft and harlotry in Nahum.
In that passage, the metaphorical prostitute is punished by public exposure of her geni-
talia. Duane Christensen calls this punishment her “just desserts” 36 – a punishment that
32 ARM 26:249.37–41: “šum-ma ki-iš-pí be-le-et-ki a-na ia-ar-ka-ab-dIM be-lí-ša i -pu-šu a-wa-at é-kál-
lim ú-še-ṣú-ú ù ša-nu-um ša- pa -ar be-el-ti-ki ip - tu -ú”. These are either two accusations or three.
Heimpel (LKM p. 273) and Durand (ARM 26 p.529) read them as three questions: one about witch-
craft, one about divulging confidential palace information, and one about infidelity. I am inclined
to read them as two questions, with the conjunction “u” indicating causation: Amat-Sakkanim sent
out a summons, which invited a sexual liaison. In either case, the witchcraft and sexual infidelity are
clearly central to her accusation.
33 Montgomery and Gehman 1951, 403.
34 Brueggemann notes, “Unlike the terse account of vv. 27–29, here the narrator warms to the sub-
ject and leads the reader into every savored detail concerning this queen whom we are to despise”
(Brueggemann 2000, 387).
35 “Sexualization is one of the principle methods implemented to produce a radical othering/alienat-
ing of Jezebel as the Other to be slaughtered, especially in 2 Kings 9:30–37” (Létourneau 2014, 209,
translation mine).
36 Christensen 2009, 344.
fits the crime of promiscuity – and indeed we see such sexual humiliation as a common
punishment for metaphorical prostitution in biblical prophecy, 37 whether or not it had a
historical basis. 38 But for Jezebel, her ultimate crime was illicit consumption, so her “just
dessert” is to be consumed. 39 The same principle of ironically appropriate punishment is
applied, but to a different end.
Jezebel’s Fragmentation
We see Adams’s second stage of fragmentation, or dismemberment, take place next – first
narratively, then literally. The narrative’s glimpses of Jezebel – her eyes, her hair, her face
framed by the window – begin to dismember her into individual body parts, rather than
a whole person. Indeed, this is the narrative function of the window. As Exum says of
Michal’s window-watching in 2 Sam 6, “the text provides our window on Michal, offering
us only a glimpse, the kind of view a window gives, limited in range and perspective. We are,
as it were, outside, watching her, inside, watching David.” 40 So with Jezebel: by framing her
in a window, the text begins to fragment her into a partial body, a “glimpse” of a person. 41
The window conceals the woman’s body while revealing her deliberately styled hair
and face, reducing her to attractive body parts (one is reminded of Magritte’s several Sur-
realist paintings that “dismembered female anatomy”, 42 such as his two versions of L’evi-
dence eternelle [The Eternally Obvious, 1930, 1948] and Le Viol [The Rape, 1934], which re-
37 E.g. Jeremiah 13:26; Ezekiel 16:37–38, 23:10, 29; Hosea 2:12; Lamentations 1:8–9.
38 Anchor- ale Dictionary, “Adultery”, p. 84: “It should be noted that the biblical texts alluding to
divorce, public stripping, and mutilation contain prophetic metaphors and hence they are not de-
pendable sources for actual Israelite legal practice. (...) Obviously the de facto procedure for the
prosecution of adultery is uncertain.”
39 “[T]hese attracting details are there to convey the message that such a powerful and assertive wom-
an deserves what is coming to her” (McKinlay 2002, 307).
40 Exum 1993, 47.
41 This point may, at first, seem in tension with Ackerman’s argument. She connects biblical passages
of women in windows (including Jezebel) with the Levantine archaeological motif of the goddess
in the window, empowering the queen mother by comparing her to a goddess (Ackerman 1998,
155ff.). Here Ackerman follows others who have connected Jezebel to these goddess images, includ-
ing Beach 1993, and Ackroyd 1983.Aschkenasy shares this view, arguing that Jezebel’s appearance
“recaptures for the last time her godlike splendor”, thus “reasserting her status as the goddess of fer-
tility and birth” (Ashkenasy 1998, 15–16). However, as Pienaar notes, “The meaning of this depic-
tion [i.e. women in windows] is not clear” (Pienaar 2008, 56). Schroer concurs and finds it “difficult
to locate in detail the identity of the woman and thus the meaning of the motif ” (Schroer 2014, 156)
while Gansell identifies them as “elite, sequestered women” who simultaneously evoked inaccessible
purity and seductive harlotry (Gansell, 2014, 64) – an impressive but somewhat confusing attempt
to combine the various streams of analysis. In short, beyond the tired associations of “fertility”
and “beauty” that attach to any iconographic depiction of women, the meaning of the fenestrated
women is unclear. What is clear is the distance and dissociation that the window provides.
42 Soby 1965, 14.
places a woman’s face with her torso, substituting breasts for eyes and vulva for mouth). 43
Whether these faces belong to a goddess, a queen, or a prostitute, they represent the frag-
mentation of that woman into her constituent parts.
As with so much of Jezebel’s story, the alluded and metaphorical soon become mani-
fested reality. On Jehu’s command, eunuchs seize Jezebel and throw her down from the
upper oor. At that point, her dismemberment becomes very literal; horses trample her
and dogs tear into her esh, leaving behind only a few detached body parts. We see her
skull, her feet, and her palms (v. 35): in other words, the external extremities. There is no
trace of, for instance, the heart or liver, which symbolized internal thoughts and emo-
tions. 44 Jezebel has been stripped of her animating force, just as one might disembowel an
animal corpse in the process of butchering it. The once-powerful woman is reduced to
pieces of bony meat.
Jezebel’s Consumption
The final stage of eating is consumption, or annihilation: the stage at which the con-
sumed object becomes nothing more than sustenance for others, emphasizing its second-
ary, unimportant status. Again, we see this take place both narratively and literally. In
the narrative, Jehu goes into the palace that Jezebel just occupied and eats a meal. The
Hebrew here, stripped of its later versification, actually allows for a gruesome possibility:
“some of her blood spattered on the wall and the horses, and they 45 trampled her, and
he came, 46 and he ate, and he drank” (vv. 33–34). By leaving out a mention of entering
the palace for his meal, only our sense of propriety prevents us from reading that Jehu is
eating and drinking the body and blood of Jezebel’s corpse. (I am not arguing for literal
cannibalism here – merely noting that the text’s gaps evoke the possibility). Regardless,
the two events are clearly paralleled: “While her blood is splattering on the wall, (...) Jehu
is filling his stomach. As his horses trample Jezebel, he drinks in her house. (....) The body
of Jezebel has been devoured while Jehu was himself devouring her food in her house.” 47
Finally, after Jehu finishes eating, he shows a belated interest in respect for the dead,
noting that the “cursed woman” was “daughter of a king” (v. 34). et even this apparent
title of honor is part of the process of annihilation. Jezebel – queen and queen mother in
43 Cf. the extensive discussion of this painting from a feminist lens in Gubar 1987.
44 Cf. Smith 1998, who surveys the various body parts connected to emotional expression in the Bi-
ble – all internal organs, with the possible exception of the nose as a site for anger.
45 Or “and he trampled her” if we follow the MT. While most manuscripts have a plural verb here, the
singular verb of Jehu trampling her body emphasizes his gruesome complicity; it is, to quote Cogan
and Tadmore, “the more striking reading” (1988, 112).
46 “Came” (Hebrew ‫ )אוב‬most often has a sense of entering a different space. If so here, then the space
he enters could have been the prophesied “plot” (‫ )קלח‬where she died (as referenced in v. 36).
47 Cohn 2000, 70.
her own right – is reduced to a “daughter of a king”, an absent referent defined by rela-
tionship to a man. 48
Having negated her identity, Jehu calls for the burial of her corpse. This odd request
(the only place in the Deuteronomistic History that concerns a woman’s burial) serves as
a prelude to a pseudo-Deuteronomistic prophecy fulfillment: just as Elijah prophesied, so
has Jezebel been killed.
Ful lled prophecy Prior prophecy
‫ת־בּ ַשׂ֥ר ִאיזָ ֶֽבל׃‬

ְ ‫ְבּ ֵח֣לֶ ק יִ זְ ְרﬠֶ אל יֹאכְ ל֥וּ ַהכְּ לָ ִב֖ים ֶא‬ ‫ת־איזֶ ֶ֖בל ְבּ ֵח֥ל יִ זְ ְר ֶ ֽﬠאל‬
ִ ‫ַהכְּ לָ ִב֛ים יֹאכְ ל֥וּ ֶא‬
In the plot of Jezreel, the The dogs will eat Jezebel in the
dogs will eat the flesh of Jezebel ramparts 49 of Jezreel (1 Kgs 21:23)
(2 Kgs 9:36b)
‫ל־פּנֵ ֥י ַה ָשּ ֶד֖ה‬
ְ ַ‫וְ ָהיָ ת ְ ֽ]ו ָהיְ ָתה[ נִ ְבלַ ֣ת ִאיזֶ ֶ֗בל כְּ דֹ ֶ֛מן ﬠ‬ ְ ַ‫וְ נָ ְֽפלָ ה֙ נִ ְבלַ ֣ת ָ ֽה ָא ָדם כְּ דֹ ֶ֖מן ﬠ‬
‫ל־פּנֵ ֣י ַה ָשּ ֶדה‬
‫ְבּ ֵח֣לֶ ק יִ זְ ְרﬠֶ ֑אל‬
And the corpse of Jezebel will be like And the human corpse[s] will fall
dung upon the field in the plot of like dung upon the field (Jer 9:21)
Jezreel (2 Kgs 9:37a)
‫ֲא ֶשׁ֥ר ל ֹא־ יֹאמרוּ זֹאת ִאיזָ ֶבל‬ ‫ת־איזֶ ֶ֜בל יֹאכְ לוּ ַהכְּ לָ ִב֛ים ְבּ ֵח֥לֶ ק יִ זְ ְרﬠֶ ֖אל וְ ֵא֣ין‬
ִ ‫וְ ֶא‬
‫ק ֵֹב֑ר‬
so that no one can/will say, As for Jezebel, the dogs will eat her in
“This is Jezebel” (2 Kgs 9:37b) the plot of Jezreel, and no one will
bury [her] (2 Kgs 9:10)
This “prophecy” is a pastiche of other prophecies – two of Jezebel’s death, plus a possibly
Jeremianic 50 idiom – that emphasizes Jezebel as a fully consumed food product. 51 The
comparison to dung is a twofold reference; it probably represents a pun on Jezebel’s name
(as zbl was a term for dung in Aramaic and later Hebrew), 52 but it also represents the final
aftermath of consumption: “Jezebel is literally consumed, digested, and excreted out of
48 I credit Guest (2016, 58) for this insight. Pruin, who assigns the various Jezebel texts to different
periods, makes the inverse observation: “Erst in dem letzten Stadium der Überlieferung gewinnt
damit Isebel ihre auffallend großen Machtbefugnisse und wird - anders als in den älteren Texten -
weder Mann noch Vater zugeordnet” (Pruin 2006, 308).
49 ‫‘( לח‬ramparts’) is probably an orthographic error for ‫קלח‬, ‘plot’.
50 Compare Jeremiah 9:21: “And the human corpse[s] will fall like dung upon the field.”
51 O’Brien says that this description is “probably made up of traditional sayings” (1989, 200).
52 Cf. Pruin 2006, 217–218; Graetz 2017. Zbl as dung is not attested in the Hebrew Bible, but it appears
in Arabic and Aramaic – indeed, the Targum uses zbl to translate the term ‘dung’ in this verse, em-
phasizing the pun (Cogan 1988, 113). Graetz claims that the term also has parallels in Akkadian and
Ugaritic (2017, 7), but I have been unable to locate any; Montgomery and Gehman say it is present
in “Arab. and Akk. (?)” (1951, 291).
Israel”. 53 But the most brutal phrase is the one that is essentially unparallelled elsewhere:
“no one can/will say, ‘This is Jezebel’.” This devastating fate represents complete annihi-
lation 54 – one of the deepest fears of the ancient Near Eastern mind, in which royal mon-
uments strove above all else to preserve the monarch’s memory and name. 55
Thus, the cycle of consumption is complete. Having been objectified into less than
human, fragmented into pieces, and finally annihilated, Jezebel disappears from the nar-
rative; her name never appears again in the Deuteronomistic History.
Anat the Huntress
As I have demonstrated, Jezebel’s two primary stories show her in contrasting lights: first
as the consumer and procurer of food, then as the consumed. Next, I turn to a subject that
has already been observed by multiple commentators: the parallels between Jezebel and
the goddess Anat. 56 After reviewing some of the grounds previously explored by others,
I add my own additional parallels, especially focusing on Anat as huntress and provider.
Anat was a Canaanite goddess whom we know primarily through Ugaritic texts. Her
most extensive depictions are in the Epic of Baal and the Aqhat Epic, but she also appears
in more fragmentary texts, some of which have hotly debated meanings. 57 A violent hunt-
er and warrior, Anat’s primary epithet is batulatu, connected to the Hebrew term ‫בתולה‬,
which means something like ‘adolescent female’. Scholars have primarily noted connec-
tions between Jezebel and Anat in the story of Jezebel’s death. Just as Jezebel beautifies
herself before confronting Jehu, 58 so does Anat beautify herself before and after battle in
the Baal Cycle, in KTU 1.3 ii-iii. 59 Certain body parts figure prominently in both texts:
Jezebel’s corpse is reduced to skull (‫)גלגֹלת‬, hands (‫)כף‬, and feet (‫)רגל‬, while Anat adorns
53 Appler 2004, 6.
54 “She is removed from the history of Israel with no visible trace, not to be honored, not to be remem-
bered” (Brueggemann 2000, 390).
55 “[C]ommemoration served both commoner and elite alike by offering the possibility of averting
the relegation of one’s deeds or personhood to eternal anonymity or the dreaded ‘death after death’”
(Schmidt 2000, 96).
56 Appler 2004, 152–173; Ackroyd 1983; Beach 1993.
57 Because of the many lacunae and ambiguities in the secondary Anat texts, this section focuses on
those two Ugaritic epics as my primary sources. Likewise, due to the frankly speculative nature
of the suggestions that “reinstate” Anat into verses of the Hebrew Bible, they do not figure in this
discussion.
58 Literally “she prepared her eyes with eye-makeup, and she improved her head,” (v. 30) generally un-
derstood as styling her hair (cf. the JPS translation “dressed her hair”, CEB “arranged her hair”, and
NIV “arranged her hair”).
59 Unfortunately, both beautification scenes are broken. They seem to include eye makeup, perfume,
and purple dye before (1.3.ii.2–3) and the application of murex (perhaps the same purple dye?) after-
ward (1.3.iii.1); the verb for beautification is ttpp, a 3fs prefixing Rt form of the root -P- (connect-
ed to Hebrew ‫)הפי‬.
herself with the bloody heads and hands from her battle (though no feet): “She fastened
heads (rišt) to her back; she girded hands (kpt) at her belt.” 60
Mostly from these two connections, Appler argues for Jezebel’s “direct correlation
with Anat,” saying that “the Deuteronomistic historian implies that Jezebel is (...) the
embodiment of the goddess Anat.” 61 This statement is problematic on several grounds,
from the ascription of the Jezebel story to the Deuteronomistic Historian 62 to the idea
that textual details from Ugaritic myths about Anat would be intimately well-known to
a biblical audience. 63 Nonetheless, Jezebel certainly does embody the same literary type
as Anat: the woman from the North whose beauty and ruthlessness were equally strong.
Moreover, the incident with Naboth provides even stronger parallels than Jezebel’s
death – specifically with Anat’s actions in the epic of Aqhat. In this Ugaritic tale, the boy
Aqhat displays his new, divinely-gifted bow at a feast hosted by his parents. Anat covets
the bow and bargains for it with Aqhat, but the boy refuses, scornfully mocking the idea
that a woman would use a bow at all. In her rage at his refusal, Anat plots to kill Aqhat,
enlisting her male lieutenant Yatapan. Although the scenes that follow are broken, she
seems to set up another feast for Aqhat, during which Yatapan strikes him dead. Unfor-
tunately, although the god Ilu grudgingly approved her plan, killing Aqhat has cosmic
consequences; it seems to cause a drought that a icts the whole land.
The stages of action here are remarkably parallel to Jezebel’s actions against Naboth.
A man was approached for a prized possession connected to acquiring food, whether by
hunting or by gardening. After he refused to give it up, a powerful woman plotted his
death. She did so by commissioning a male intermediary to attack him at a public gather-
ing. Once he was dead, she attempted to take possession. But a divine message – Elijah’s
prophecy or the national drought – indicated that her actions were “infelicitous.” 64
60 ‘tkt . rišt . lbmth . šnst kpt . b bšh (KTU 1.3 ii.11–13).

61 Appler 2004, 188.
62 As noted above, multiple authors (especially Rufe 1998 and Cronauer 2005) have suggested that
the primary Jezebel stories come from a late, post-Exilic redaction that portrays her as the dreaded
“foreign wife” of Ezra/Nehemiah.
63 Anat was probably known at some level to the biblical audience, but knowing of a Canaanite god-
dess and recognizing specific textual allusions to the thousand-years-prior Baal Cycle are two very
different levels of cultural exchange.
64 Cf. Wright 1999, 112–118. Wright borrows the terms of felicity/infelicity from Grimes 1990 who
borrows them from Austin 1962. Where Austin uses the terms specifically to describe performative
utterances, Grimes and Wright use them for rituals more broadly. A felicitous performance is one
that goes off happily or successfully, having avoided various infelicities (e.g. incomplete execution or
insincere intention). Because Jezebel and Anat’s acts are neither performative utterances nor rituals,
in the traditional sense, my use of the term represents an expansion – but an appropriate one, in my
view. Each of the women engages in a sequence of behavior that has cosmic negative consequences,
and the reason for those consequences can be explained as a combination of two infelicities: “misap-
plication” (the fact that they are women) and “violation” (the fact that their behavior causes harm).
Summary Aqhat KTU 1.1 –1 1 Kings 21
A man possesses Aqhat and his bow Naboth and his

something that is gifted by Kothar-wa-Ḫasis ancestral vineyard
divinely gifted and (1.17.v.26–28)
associated with food
production
The man is Anat offers to pay Ahab offers money

approached with an Aqhat, then offers or a replacement
offer, but he rebuffs immortality. He refuses. vineyard to Naboth.
it indignantly (1.17.vi.16–40) He refuses (vv. 2–3)
With a petulant Anat casts her goblet Ahab refuses to

response, eating/ on the ground when eat when Naboth
drinking ceases she sees the bow. refuses him (v. 4)
(1.17.vi.15)
A powerful woman Anat declares to Ilu Jezebel tells Ahab

verbally plots his death that she will smite that she will get him
in order to obtain the Aqhat (1.17.vi.52-?) the vineyard (v. 7)
possession
She commissions men Anat tells Yatapan Jezebel tells the city
to kill him at a ritual to kill Aqhat nobles to kill
gathering (1.18.iv.17–27) Naboth (vv. 8–10)
The man is killed Aqhat dies at a Naboth dies at a

successfully at the feast (1.18.iv.29–37) public fast (vv. 12–13)
assembly
A divine sign reflects Regional drought follows Elijah brings a

and reveals the unjust Aqhat’s death (1.19.i.29–34) prophetic message
death of punishment to
Ahab (vv. 17–24)
Revenge is delayed for After years of mourning, ears later, Ahab,

years, but ultimately Pughat goes in disguise Jezebel, and their
follows to kill atapan children are all
(1.19.iv.28–47) slaughtered (1 Kgs 22:
34–38; 2 Kgs 1:17,
9:24–26, 30–37,
10:7–11)
Now, there is some evidence that biblical authors may have been familiar with the Aqhat
narrative in some form; the prophet Ezekiel thrice mentions Danel, Aqhat’s father, as a
paradigm of righteousness and wisdom. 65 But without stronger intertextual data, it is
impossible to demonstrate that the story of Naboth is deliberately modeled on the story
of Aqhat. Rather, both of them envision dangerous femininity in a similar way. The
Dangerous Woman is not satisfied with domestic life; she reaches out and covets that
which is not hers. The Dangerous Woman inverts the natural metaphor where men hunt
for women; instead, she hunts men, 66 though she may do so through intermediaries who
can carry out her hunger for power. Because of her actions, natural events are inverted;
the communal gathering, whether feast or fast, becomes a site of danger and death. And
in the end, though her violence may succeed, the cosmos reacts against her unnatural
behavior.
This theme is supported by an additional parallel between Aqhat and Jezebel’s death.
Just as Jezebel is first murdered, then devoured by animals, so is Aqhat. When Aqhat’s
father Danel searches for Aqhat’s body, he invokes Baal, who systematically breaks the
pinions of vultures so that Danel can cut them open them to look for human remains.
Each time, he sews up the vultures, and they miraculously recover and y away. Finally,
Aqhat’s body is found inside the female vulture Ṣamal. 67 As “the mother of all vultures”,
she is identified by Wright as “almost a re ection of” Anat 68 and is notable for her gender.
But unlike Anat, Ṣamal is mortal and thus vulnerable. After Danel discovers Aqhat’s re-
mains inside her, having slit open her gullet, he takes the remains and leaves her lying dead
and disemboweled. The female predator has been appropriately punished.
The Maiden and the Queen
We thus come to the central conundrum of this paper. Over and over, the ancient Near
Eastern literature depicts a consistent scheme. Women are metaphorically treated and de-
picted as food; those women who invert the metaphor, hunting for their own prey, are
dangerous and must be “put back in their place”, becoming prey themselves. Yet despite
the consistency of this conceptual metaphor, Anat seems to contravene it. She is a huntress
and a warrior; she preys upon Aqhat and wades knee-deep in the blood of her foes. And as
65 Ezek 14:14, 20 and 28:3. For discussion of these passages and whether they refer to the Ugaritic/
Canaanite Danel, cf. the major commentaries on Ezekiel, as well as (most prominently) Day 1980
and Dressler 1979.
66 Compare the modern slang term describing a woman as a “man-eater”, someone for whom “the
beauty is there but a beast is in the heart” (lyrics from “Maneater” by Hall and Oates). The quoted
song is quite biblical, using the image of a predatory seductress as an extended metaphor for a cor-
rupt, decadent city (Kauffman 2014).
67 Ṣamal’s name is enigmatic (cf. Wright 1999, 177), but it may connect to the Akkadian zamaltu/
ṣamaltu – a food utensil of some kind – or samālu, a cup.
68 Wright 1999, 219. Note also Anat’s general connection to vultures (Appler 2004, 153).
far as we see in any of the extant Ugaritic sources, she never receives her “just desserts” for
this behavior.
The answer comes when we turn to examine Anat’s gender. An initially promising
possibility identifies Anat as an androgynous figure, based on her “masculine” prowess
at hunting and warfare. Some scholars have even argued for an actual masculine appear-
ance, claiming a beard for Anat based on one still-debated line of the Baal Epic. 69 But this
dubious line aside, there is little evidence for Anat as androgynous in body. When we
turn to iconographic evidence, despite the difficulties with identification, the data agree;
Cornelius found only six images of Anat identified by inscription, and all of them are
unequivocally female. 70 In short, while Anat’s actions may have been traditionally mas-
culine 71 she is never clearly identified as male or even androgynous. 72 So as a woman, how
can she successfully consume without being consumed?
The answer lies in the metaphor of woman is food – and specifically the site of its
origin as a cross-cultural metaphor. Kövecses summarizes the process as follows: “This
conceptualization of women and men chie y occurs when they both are considered for
sexual purposes. The relationship of sexuality that exists between women and men is per-
haps the main and most productive perspective from which men think and talk about
women. 73 (...) The SEX IS EATING and THE OBJECT OF SEX IS FOOD metaphors
combine with the metaphor of SEXUAL DESIRE/LUST IS HUNGER, where the ob-
69 Cf. the lengthy discussion and authors cited in Loewenstamm 1984, which concludes against a
bearded Anat.
70 Cf. Cornelius 2008, 89. Unfortunately, no Ugaritic images of her survive with an identifying in-
scription, but those Ugaritic images often identified with her – usually because of the presence of
wings – are also not androgynous.
71 In addition to her hunting and warfare, both traditionally the domain of men – though cf. Tam-
ber-Rosenau’s argument below – there are other hints that Anat’s behavior was masculine. “It seems
that ‘Anatu, in lacerating herself (in the Ba‘lu Myth, KTU 1.6:1.2–5), overstepped gender bounda-
ries. The goddess more often revealed this behaviour. In the Ba‘lu Myth she furthermore buried the
corpse of her husband Ba‘lu, which was generally considered to be a male task (KTU 1.6:1.8–18)”
(Marsman 2003, 522).
72 I have not yet addressed the much-debated description of Anat that appears after she approaches Ilu,
in a formulaic exchange present in both Aqhat and the Baal Epic. After Anat makes her demands,
Ilu responds, “I know you, daughter, that you are anšt”. This final word “can be related to two roots,
nš, one meaning ‘human, man, person,’ and the other, ‘weak, ill’” (Smith and Pitard 2008, 352); the
latter root could be extended to mean “sick with anger or emotion”, and was used to describe Baal in
that sense. Some (e.g. Wright 1999, 125–126; Dijkstra and de Moor 1975, 193) have argued that Ilu
is calling Anat “manly,” i.e. “unfeminine”, here. But I find the philological evidence unpersuasive.
nš means human, not male; if this first root was intended, I would read it as “you are acting like a
human, i.e. not a divine being.” Moreover, since the latter root is used in the same text to describe
Baal, it is the more likely choice. The description refers to Anat’s temperament, not her gender – a
conclusion supported by Walls 1992, 83–86, among others.
73 There is an interesting parallel here in Abusch’s (2007) observation that the witch primarily was
responsible for digestive and sexual ailments made above: in other words, the domains most con-
nected to this female figure were sex and food.
ject of hunger is again APPETIZING FOOD (Lakoff 1987). These metaphors led to the
conceptualization of women as appetizing food.”
In other words, sex and eating are both bodily processes of appetite satiation with
semantic domains that naturally overlap in metaphor. 74 From the perspective of a hetero-
sexual male, the object of eating, i.e. the equivalent of food, is women. But this metaphor
does not apply to everyone. 75 Most relevantly, not all women are sexually accessible. In my
survey of literature on the woman is food metaphor, a universal constant was that the ob-
ject of the metaphor was a sexually desirable woman – i.e. not someone whose age, appear-
ance, or identity would “turn off one’s appetite.” 76 Put differently, in Adams’s language,
objectification is a necessary stage of consumption; to metaphorically eat a woman, one
must first dehumanize her into a sexual object.
What of Anat, then? One line in Kirta compares a woman’s beauty to Anat and As-
tarte, so she was considered beautiful. 77 But as far as sexual availability goes, scholarly
opinion has changed dramatically in recent decades. While Anat was once seen as a “fer-
tility goddess” who openly had sex with Baal, Aqhat, and perhaps others, the evidence
for that behavior was based on lacunae that simply do not stand up to rigorous scrutiny. 78
In many cases, the outdated tendency to connect any female goddess with “fertility” is
a visible bias. Anat’s epithet of batulatu supports this non-sexualized conclusion. While
the Semitic term may not have meant ‘virgin’ in an absolute sense, as numerous linguistic
studies have demonstrated, 79 it generally represented a “a transitional, preparatory stage”,
to quote Martha Roth 80 – a young woman who was old enough to marry, yet not mar-
ried. But one of the most important aspects of batulatu, which has not previously been
discussed to my knowledge, is what she was not: a fetishized object of desire. 81 Among the
many epithets in Song of Songs, the lover never calls his beloved a ‫בּתוּלָ ה‬.ְ Nor do any of the
Akkadian appearances of batultu occur in erotic contexts. As for Ugaritic texts, it appears
only as an epithet of Anat.
74 This metaphor can go in either direction, as with the slang term “food porn” to refer to especially
appetizing images of food.
75 To begin, not all speakers are heterosexual men; however, since the author of Aqhat likely was one,
we do not delve into that oversight here.
76 One exception exists: the use of sweet foods as slang for pre-pubescent girls (a cupcake, a little cook-
ie). However, the metaphor here is of sweetness and small size rather than sexual desirability; little
girls are not “pieces of meat.”
77 KTU 1.14 III 41–42.
78 Cf. Day 1992, in particular for summarizing this shift, but also Walls 1992, 122–152, for a discus-
sion of some of the prominent texts.
79 Some discussion: Wenham 1972; Walls 1992, 78–79; Day 1995, 283; Bergman, Ringgren, and Tze-
vat 1975, 338–43.
80 Roth 1987, 746.
81 Here I diverge strongly from Walls, who argues that “As a divine, nubile adolescent, Anat is erotic
whether she intends to be or not. Indeed, her virginity actually accentuates her sexual availability”
(Walls 1992, 201). Whatever Walls’ opinions on the allure of virgin adolescents, I can find no evi-
dence that ancient Near Eastern tastes eroticized them.
One important hint of the term’s connotations is in the biblical text of 2 Samuel 13,
Amnon’s rape of Tamar.
“David’s son Absalom had a beautiful sister named Tamar,

and David’s son Amnon loved her.
But Amnon was sick with misery over Tamar his sister,
because she was a ‫בּתוּלָ ה‬,ְ
and it seemed impossible to Amnon to do anything to her” (2Sam 13:1–2).
These final two statements seem linked: Tamar is a ‫בּתוּלָ ה‬,ְ and thus it seems impossible
– or miraculous (‫ – )פלא‬to do anything to her. Indeed, her status as ‫ ְבּתוּלָ ה‬is presented as
a roadblock to Amnon: she is beautiful, but she is a ‫בּתוּלָ ה‬.ְ This implies that a key part
of the ‫ ְבּתוּלָ ה‬status was inaccessibility for sexual contact. Perhaps, rather than defining a
batulatu as a young woman who has not had sex, we should define her as a young woman
with whom no one ought to have sex, until her status was changed to something else. 82
Notably, this categorization does not mark Anat as a “liminal” figure. Walls argues
that Anat had a liminal gender status, 83 and his argument has been supported more re-
cently by Day. 84 In their view, Anat is female, yet not quite a woman, due to her lack of
sexualization. 85 As someone outside the category of women, she can transgress normal
gender boundaries. Yet Tamber-Rosenau is right to criticize the application of the term
“liminal” here (and in other instances of ancient warrior-women), on several grounds.
First, she notes, “the term assumes that there is a clear gender boundary or threshold for
the characters to straddle.” 86 Second, and even more persuasively, she observes: “[I]t is
suspicious that the figures most often dubbed “liminal” in this context are female. If god-
desses and mortal female characters in literature are repeatedly labelled as liminal on the
basis of purported gender transgression, perhaps modern scholars are holding to an overly
82 This definition is supported by the word’s use in Esther. After banishing Queen Vashti, the king
puts out a call for “beautiful young betulot” (‫ )תוֹבוֹט תוֹלוּת ּ ְב תוֹ ָרע ְנ‬to be brought to the palace and
placed in his harem (Esther 2:2,3). But they are only ‫ תוֹלוּת ּ ְב‬before they are ready for sexual con-
tact. (2:4: “Let the girl (‫ )ה ָ ֲרע ַנ‬who pleases the king become queen”; 2:12, “each girl would go in to
the king”; etc.). The term’s reappearance in 2:16 (“she obtained favor and grace, more than all the
‫ )”תוֹלוּת ּ ְב‬is ambiguous.
83 “She is a liminal figure, both socially and sexually, in that she is outside of the normative feminine
categories of mother, wife, or dependent daughter” (Walls 1992, 158).
84 “As perpetual btlt she is suspended in the liminality of adolescence, where male and female social
roles have not yet been fully differentiated. This lack of complete gender separation is expressed
mythologically by a “confusion of categories”, the absence of a boundary between male and female
spheres of activity” (Day 1992, 183).
85 To be clear, Anat was not a real woman; therefore, psychoanalytic explanations like that of Walls
(1999) are unsatisfying. To quote Murphy, “these texts were written by males who were probably
far less concerned with representing ‘feminine rage’ or critiquing ‘repressive androcentric social and
gender ideology’” (Murphy 2009, 538).
86 Tamber-Rosenau 2018, 24.
restrictive definition of what constitutes womanhood. One also wonders whether there is
not some modern bias regarding unmarried or childless women at work here.”
On the one hand, the “bias regarding unmarried or childless women” is hardly mod-
ern; as Moss and Baden observe, there is “a master narrative running throughout the Bible
in which fertility is a sign of divine blessing, procreation an obligation, and infertility a
sign of divine judgment and moral failure”, all especially true for women. 87 At the same
time, Moss and Baden’s broader goal is to show that this “master narrative” is far from
uniform or universal. After all, the Bible “recognizes that there are, within the class of
women, individuals who do not have children. This is clear enough from the mere pres-
ence in the text of such women, and prominent ones: Dinah, Miriam, Deborah.” 88 Tam-
ber-Rosenau’s point is thus an insightful one: if Miriam and Deborah can be childless
and yet not marked by the text as other than wholly women, why should we impose the
category of liminality upon them?
Thus, Anat is not a “liminal woman” – but she is a sexually unavailable one. In con-
trast, we have the metaphor woman is food, which is predicated on the woman being an
object of sexual attraction. No wonder, then, that the metaphor was not seen as applying
to her. As someone outside this metaphor’s semantic range, and therefore impossible to
reduce metaphorically to food, she could follow a different set of norms – the norms of
the wild huntress – without needing to be rewarded with a “just punishment.”
Some Conclusions
We can thus return to Aqhat’s question: “do women go hunting?”. Can women be de-
vourers instead of being food? The answer for sexualized women is “no, they ought not.”
Jezebel goes hunting metaphorically, and in turn becomes the hunted. Anat goes hunt-
ing, but as a batulatu, she is exempt from being contemplated as metaphorical food. This
distinction thus illuminates the metaphorical map of woman is food. We have learned
that “woman” refers to a woman who is available for sexual advances, not merely any
female, and “being food” refers to participating as the object of the three-stage process of
objectification, fragmentation, and annihilation.
We have also explored the ways that metaphors can shape narrative in extended, re-
alized form. In particular, we have seen an unconventional literary manifestation of the
concept of conceptual blending, as pioneered by Fauconnier and Turner in The Way We
Think. 89 In conceptual blending, a metaphor does not merely substitute one concept for
another; it creates a blended space where some, but not all, features of both concepts co-
exist. For instance, one might map the story of Jezebel’s death as follows:
87 Moss and Baden 2015, 14.

88 Ibid., 90.
89 Cf. their entire book, but particularly pp. 40–50.
Jezebel is both a literal woman and literal food. She is objectified and annihilated in a nar-
rative sense, but she is also actually eaten by dogs. As for the generic space of “motivation”,
there is neither overt lust nor overt hunger in the text; rather, the motivation is the reader
(and Jehu)’s hunger for justice. The blended space of the metaphor in this passage is there-
fore complex and dynamic, and the fact that it was evoked so skilfully within a broader
narrative is a mark of admirable writing ability.
The author of the Jezebel narratives used the metaphor woman is food to make an
implicit argument: Jezebel, as an example of the dangerous Foreign Woman, reversed the
natural order of things; the appropriate response to such unnatural behavior is the violent
reassertion of traditional norms. In doing so, this author drew upon ancient Near Eastern
images of independent women that had previously manifested in the Ugaritic depiction
of Anat, images that portrayed the extreme danger of a woman who hunted others instead
of being consumed. But by transplanting these traits from Anat, who could engage in
such behavior because of her non-sexual associations, to Jezebel, who was a sexually active
woman, the author was able to link them to the metaphor woman is food – first in negated
form, but ultimately in its original form.
To paraphrase Proverbs 6:26, Jezebel was no simple loaf of bread, but a “man’s wife
who went hunting for precious life.” Yet in the end, her fate and the bread loaf’s would
be the same.
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Visuali in ‘Death’ (M tu) in the U aritic Texts
Joseph Lam (University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill)
Introduction
The question of the metaphorical representation of deities poses a unique challenge for
theorists of metaphor in ancient texts. 1 If all metaphors inherently involve a measure
of indeterminacy due to the open-ended process of metaphorical interpretation, then
divine metaphors – that is, statements describing the nature of the gods – compound
this indeterminacy by virtue of the special status of the category of the divine. After all,
the concept of a “deity” is not a simple or stable one, but encapsulates different ways of
describing forces that are not fully explicable. In the context of a discussion of literary
representations of deities as animals, Marjo Korpel once asserted that “[t]otal or partial
metamorphosis was seen as a hallmark of divinity in the ancient world.” 2 While this state-
ment is not, strictly speaking, inaccurate, it might be better to say that the category of
“divinity” encompasses a range of modes of conceptualizing the fundamental powers
that are thought to exist in the world. Divine metaphors are not only sui generis, but also a
“moving target” that presents challenges that go beyond the already-known complexities
of analyzing metaphorical language in general.
This challenge can be complicated further by broader issues of genre in which the di-
vine descriptions are found. In particular, when it comes to mythological contexts, we
are inherently dealing with language being pushed to its representational limits, and this
should prompt us to calibrate our expectations accordingly. As Edward Greenstein has as-
serted, “[m]yths are analogous to the genre of the fantastic in that they project human fears
and anxieties about the unknown and the paradoxical onto a surreal world – in the case
of myth, the realm of hidden forces that is embodied in the lives of the gods.” 3 Or, as Wil-
liam Doty argues in the context of offering a cross-cultural definition of myth, “mythical
1 For a helpful discussion, which recognizes that such questions ultimately rest on considerations
external to the text itself, see Schwartz 2010. I have elsewhere addressed the question in a similar way,
albeit only brie y: see Lam 2019, 38. and id. 2016, 109–113. Other treatments of the topic, which
vary to the extent to which they frame the question in terms of linguistic concerns, include Long
1994, 509–537; Aaron 2001, esp. 23–41; Hamori 2008; Sommer 2009; Porter (ed) 2009; Kna 2014.
2 Korpel 1990, 523.
3 Greenstein 1997, 52¬.
DOI: 10.13173/9783447114370.053
54 Joseph Lam
metaphors, symbols, and allegories provide concrete conveyances for (abstract) thought…
and [they] allow experimentation and play with images, ideas, and concepts that would
otherwise remain too incorporeal to be engaged.” 4 All this to say, in mythological contexts,
we should have the expectation of language about the gods that transcends the normal.
Consequently, what is needed is a theoretical approach to metaphor that is adequate to
account for these observations. I would suggest that any such approach must recognize at
least two things. The first is the role of construal in the interpretation of metaphor. 5 Specif-
ically, this involves a philosophical distinction between the metaphorical and the literal as
two distinct modes of interpretation. Strictly speaking, no phrase is a metaphor in and of
itself; it is rather a mode of interpretation applied by the reader or hearer. Any phrase that
can be read as a metaphor always has a possible literal construal that accompanies it. After
all, the most stereotypical (Sam is a beast) or familiar ( Juliet is the sun) of metaphors can in
theory be construed literally (Sam is [literally] a beast; Juliet is [literally] the sun), even if the
resultant interpretation would be judged to be false or nonsensical. The point is that, from
a linguistic point of view, literal construals of statements such as Sam is a beast and Juliet
is the sun are indeed possible, resulting in grammatically acceptable propositions that can
be evaluated on their truth claims (e.g., “No, Juliet is not, literally, the sun”; or “ es, Sam
is actually the name of the new gorilla at the local zoo”). 6 While the plausibility of a given
(metaphorical or literal) interpretation might seem obvious in the vast majority of contexts,
it is precisely in more ambiguous cases, such as with divine metaphors in mythological
contexts, that the lines can blurred. 7 A proper recognition of metaphorical construal frees
us from the burden of having to decide in a definitive way whether a given ancient literary
statement is metaphorical or not. If we recognize that all metaphorical statements, but es-
pecially those dealing with deities, are inherently indeterminate, then the analytical task
becomes that of elucidating the possible construals, literal or metaphorical, of the given
statement, rather than necessarily determining whether a phrase is metaphorical or not.
Second, we also need a proper account of the relationship between metaphor and
pictorial representation – what linguists and philosophers refer to as metaphor as “see-
ing-as.” 8 This relationship is not a straightforward one, and a number of theorists have
pointed out the problems with an overly narrow interpretation of the claim that met-
aphors are images. 9 However, it remains that there is an intuitive association between
metaphors and pictures, and the connection might be related to the effects that images
produce. The philosopher Richard Moran has argued that “[p]ictures share with meta-
phors the capacity to get a point across in a way that is indifferent to grammatical mood
4 Doty 1980, 539.

5 For brief discussions of this idea, with references to the literature, see Lam, 2016, 6–9 and id. 2019,
41–42.
6 For a careful consideration of the question of grammatical deviance as it relates to metaphor, see
Stern 1983.
7 For examples of “twice-apt” metaphors, which permit both literal and metaphorical construals (de-
pending on the context), see Lam 2019, 42.
8 See Stern 2000, 281–294; Camp 2003.
9 Stern 2000, 289.
Visualizing ‘Death’ (Môtu) in the Ugaritic Texts 55
or to the distinction between bringing something up and saying something in particular

about it.” 10 These extra-propositional effects – that is, the effects that metaphors produce
beyond the propositional – are inherently difficult to describe, but they are an integral
part of what distinguishes metaphor from literal language.
Môtu in the Ugaritic Texts
As a way of exploring how these considerations might affect our reading of ancient Near
Eastern texts, let us consider the example of the Ugaritic deity Mwtu, whose place within
the literature and religion of Ugarit has long been the subject of interest and debate. No
one denies the prominent role that Mwtu plays in the most important mythological com-
position of ancient Ugarit, the Ba‘lu Cycle, and the passages involving this deity include
some of the most vivid metaphorical descriptions in Ugaritic literature. But the appear-
ances of Mwtu outside of the Ba‘lu Cycle are more sporadic, leading some to question if
Mwtu had much of a role at all in Ugaritic religion beyond a single literary context. Many
scholars would probably accept that Mwtu appears in lines 8–11 of KTU 1.23 11 (the text
referred to variously as “Dawn and Dusk” or “The Birth of the Goodly Gods”), although
the exceptions to this view are notable. 12 Certain other suggested occurrences of the name
are less certain because of the ambiguity between whether mt denotes the deity or the
common noun ‘death’. 13 Moreover, for a long time, no definitive occurrence of the divine
name mt in ritual contexts could be identified, but the more recent discovery of a Mesopo-
tamian cuneiform deity list (RS 94.2188) with the logographic writing dNAM.ÚŠ.A has
changed that situation while also prompting a re-evaluation of the signs mt occurring im-
mediately after a break in KTU 1.148 34. 14 Even with these newly identified occurrences,
the limited presence of Mwtu in ritual contexts does not seem to be commensurate with
his role as a major deity in the Ba‘lu Cycle, and this might re ect an ambivalence toward a
deity that represents death – a explanation that would be bolstered by the lack of examples
of Mwtu being used as a theophoric element in proper names. 15
10 Moran 1989, 102.

11 All Ugaritic text references in this paper are from the third edition of KTU: Dietrich, Loretz, and
Sanmart n 2013.
12 Specifically, in the debate surrounding the identity of the divine figure called mt wšr in line 8 and de-
scribed in the following lines; for discussion, see Smith 2006; Scurlock 2011. Two notable exceptions
to the assumption that mt (w šr) is the god Mwtu are the positions of Wyatt, who takes the figure to
be ’Ilu (see Wyatt 1977 and 1992), and that of Pardee, who takes it to refer to a double-deity “Warri-
or-Prince” (i.e., with the element mt representing the word mutu ‘man, warrior’) that “prefigures” ’Ilu
later in the text but is not, strictly speaking, to be identified with ’Ilu (see Pardee 1997b, 276–277).
13 These include KTU 1.16 VI 6 (from the Kirta Epic), 1.82 5 (from an incantation against snakebite),
and 2.10 13 (in a letter relating to military affairs).
14 See Roche-Hawley 2012, 158; for a discussion of KTU 1.148 34 (written before an awareness of the
datum from RS 94.2188), see Pardee 2000, 803.
15 Healey argues that the “few personal names containing the element mt… [are] probably the noun
mt meaning ‘man, warrior’” (see Healey 1999, 598). Although it is significantly out of date, a partial
56 Joseph Lam
In any case, regardless of the precise extent to which Mwtu appears outside of the Ba‘lu
Cycle, this deity turns out to be particularly suitable as a test case for examining divine
metaphorical representation. Since the name of the deity means ‘death’ and transpar-
ently invites an association between the portrayal of the deity and the concept itself, 16
one might expect this to be re ected in metaphorical descriptions in literary contexts.
In addition, the fact that we have a relatively large number of mentions of this deity (by
Ugaritic standards) in a single literary work 17 allows us to observe the variety of modes of
depiction that can occur within a unified context of reading (or hearing). This is crucial
for engaging with the notion of metaphor, given the importance of construal to meta-
phorical interpretation. Thus, the following overview will focus only on descriptions of
Mwtu within the Ba‘lu Cycle, though, as already mentioned, these already include nearly
all the relevant occurrences of Mwtu in Ugaritic.
Anthropomorphic Portrayals of Môtu
All indications are that the default representation (and, potentially, visualization) of
Mwtu within the Ba‘lu Cycle is as an anthropomorphic being, which would be consistent
with the general pattern for the gods at Ugarit and elsewhere in the ancient Near East.
Not surprisingly, we find Mwtu being portrayed as a royal figure in correspondence with
other gods: he possesses a throne (KTU 1.6 VI 23–29), and he both receives (KTU 1.4
VIII 14–17, 24–32) and sends (KTU 1.5 I 9ff.) messengers. Near the end of the myth, he is
described as either turning or returning to Baal on the heights of Mount Ṣapunu in order
to raise his voice in protest:
KTU 1.6 I 12–1
y b . ‘m . b‘l . rrt / pn He returns to Ba‘lu on the heights of Ṣapunu,

yšu! gh . w y He raises his voice and says aloud…
One particularly clear anthropomorphic detail is found in the portion of the story in
which ‘Anatu begins to confront Mwtu. There, ‘Anatu is explicitly said to initiate the
confrontation by grabbing Mwtu’s clothing: 18
overview of theophoric elements in proper names at Ugarit can be found in Gröndahl 1967, 78–85.
16 Indeed, as Roche-Hawley suggests, the writing dNAM.ÚŠ.A in the deity list RS 94.2188, consisting
of a divine determinative placed before the logographic writing of the common noun for ‘death’,
re ects at least an ad hoc attempt to derive the name of the deity from the concept (loc. cit.).
17 Although questions remain regarding the literary relationship between the six tablets of the Ba‘lu
Cycle that we possess, the vast majority of Ugaritic scholars agree that at least KTU 1.3–1.6 (which
include all the mentions of Mwtu) form a connected unity. For a review of scholarship on the ques-
tion, see Pardee 2009; Smith and Pitard, 2009, 9–10; Smith 1994, 2–20.
18 On this idiom, see Greenstein 1982, 217–218. Greenstein explains it as an idiom having to do with
supplication, but that does not diminish the point regarding anthropomorphic representation.
KTU 1.6 II –11
ti d . mt / b sin . lpš She [‘Anatu] seizes Mwtu by the hem of his clothing,
tš qn[h] / b q . all she grasps [him] by the edge of his garment.
Elsewhere, Mwtu is also described as having two hands with which he can eat:
KTU 1. I 1 –20
p imt . bkl a t / ydy . il m And, indeed, with both my hands I eat…
However, it needs to be qualified that an anthropomorphic representation – in the form

of a human – does not necessarily imply identity with humans in every respect. In par-
ticular, the matter of size is potentially a major point of difference when it comes to divine
representation. Mark Smith, among others, has treated the question of the superhuman
size of deities with respect to both Ugaritic and Hebrew sources. 19 A number of texts in
the Hebrew Bible re ect the notion that the Israelite deity ahweh was thought to be su-
perhuman in size, such as the instructions for the cherubim throne in Solomon’s temple
in 1 Kings 6:23–26, or the corresponding vision of the temple throne in Isaiah 6, or the de-
scription of ahweh’s interactions with Moses in Exodus 33 and 34. 20 These examples are
part of a broader stream of Syro-Palestinian tradition regarding the gigantic size of deities,
known not only from texts but also from iconographic evidence such as the footprints of
the deity on the thresholds of the Ain Dara temple in northern Syria (see Figures 1 and
2), 21 as well as the single most famous stele from Ugarit, the “Ba‘lu with Thunderbolt” (RS
4.427 = AO 15775), which shows the human king as a miniature being next to the god. 22 In
keeping with this conceptual pattern, the Ba‘lu Cycle also portrays at least certain deities
as occupying superhuman space. Examples include the size of Ba‘lu’s palace, which is said
to cover “a thousand fields, ten thousand kumanu” (KTU 1.4 V 118–119), and the mem-
orable episode involving the lesser god ‘A taru being too small to fit the throne of Ba‘lu:
KTU 1.6 I 6–6
apnk . ‘ tr . ‘r / Then terrible ‘A taru

y‘l . b rrt . pn / goes up to the heights of Ṣapunu.
y b . l k . aliyn / b‘l . He sits on the throne of Mightiest Ba‘lu,
19 Smith 1988.
20 These examples are cited in Smith 1988, 425.
21 For details, see ‘Ali Ab ‘Assāf 1990.
22 For a discussion of this detail, as part of a broader examination of the iconography of the stele, see
Bordreuil 1991.
58 Joseph Lam
Fig. 1: The Thresholds of the Ain Dara Temple (photo taken in 2010 by author)
p‘nh . l tm yn / hdm [.] his feet do not reach the footstool,

rišh . l ym y / apsh his head does not reach the top.
Against this background, Mwtu definitely falls into the category of gods of superhuman
size. For instance, messengers from Ba‘lu are warned not to get too close to Mwtu, they are
enjoined to speak to him “(from) a thousand yards off, ten thousand kumanu”, the same
phrasing used for the size of Ba‘lu’s palace:
KTU 1.4 III 14–1 24–2
w n r / ‘nn . ilm But beware, O couriers of the gods:

al / tqrb . l bn . ilm / mt Don’t go near the son of Ilu, Mwtu…
b a/lp . šd (From) a thousand yards off,
rbt . k/mn . ten thousand furlongs,
l p‘n . mt / hbr w ql at the feet of Mwtu bow down and fall,
tšt wy . w k/bd . hwt fall prostrate and honor him.
Fig. 2: A Footprint of the Deity at the Ain Dara Temple (photo taken in 2010 by author)
Even more clearly, the final battle between Mwtu and Ba‘lu, in its description of the two
deities as equal counterparts, strongly suggests that they are being imagined as roughly
the same size:
KTU 1.6 I 16–1
yt‘n . k gmrm / They eye each other like warriors(?),

mt . ‘z . b‘l . ‘z . Mwtu is strong, Ba‘lu is strong.
yng n / k rumm They gore each other like wild bovids,
mt . ‘z . b‘l / ‘z . Mwtu is strong, Ba‘lu is strong.
yn kn . k b nm / They bite each other like snakes,
mt . ‘z . b’l . ‘z . Mwtu is strong, Ba‘lu is strong.
ym n / k lsmm . They trample each other like runners(?),
mt . ql / b‘l . ql . Mwtu falls, Ba‘lu falls.
By implication, it would seem that Mwtu was also understood as being of superhuman
size, like Ba‘lu. This would be in keeping with Mwtu’s status as one of the primary divine
figures within the world of the Ba‘lu Cycle.
60 Joseph Lam
From the perspective of metaphorical analysis, anthropomorphic representations of

deities are a clear illustration of the aforementioned problem of discerning between lit-
eral and metaphorical construals of divine language. 23 On the one hand, the anthropo-
morphic form typically invites a kind of literal construal because of the wide variety of
contexts – both textual and iconographic – that presume this same mode of reference
for a particular deity. Since this is often the default representation of the deity in literary
contexts, which are also the most detailed descriptions of the gods and their activities, it
is tempting to see anthropomorphism as the dominant (and, therefore, literal) form of
the deity. The unique footprints at the Ain Dara temple, which represent a rare physical,
architectural representation of the presence of a deity in a specific location, could be inter-
preted as supporting such a literal construal. On the other hand, that is not the only way
to read the evidence, and it is equally possible to maintain a metaphorical understanding
of any or all of the language in question. The determining factor is not anything in the
texts themselves, but rather the conceptualization of the deity that we would attribute to
the ancient writer or reader. The following observation by Howard Schwartz was made
regarding divine conceptualization in the Hebrew Bible, but is in my view applicable
more generally: “[t]he point is that we cannot decide whether [language about God/the
gods] is literal or metaphorical without resolving and taking a position on… larger theo-
retical issues that define the interpretive position… Texts can often be read either way.” 24
To this I would add that the idea of differences in possible interpretive positions applies
equally to the ancients as it does to modern interpreters.
Theriomorphic Portrayals of Môtu
This passage depicting the final battle between Ba‘lu and Mwtu (KTU 1.6 VI 16–17) also
raises a different question pertaining to divine metaphor – that of the use of animal (the-
riomorphic) metaphors alongside the anthropomorphic representations. 25 Looking more
closely at the four descriptions in the sequence of that passage, only the middle two are
unambiguously to be identified as animal types (wild bovids, snakes). From the perspec-
tive of metaphorical analysis, the application of a sequence of four different descriptions
(whether animal or not) to each of Ba‘lu and Mwtu suggests that no one of them is to be
literally identified with either deity. Instead, they function as a series of images to high-
light different dimensions of the battle prowess of the two deities.
But beyond the propositional component of what is said, there are also extra-proposi-
tional dimensions of the language that need to be considered: for instance, the close succes-
sion of images could lead to the visualization of these two mighty deities as shape-shifters,
cycling through the various forms in the course of their battle. To be clear, the language
23 See note 1 for a sampling of the literature on this question.

24 Schwartz 2010, 209.
25 For a broad treatment of the question within Biblical Hebrew and Ugaritic literature, see Korpel
1990, 523–613.
does not require such an interpretation, but it seems reasonable to claim that the language
makes such effects available, or invites a kind of imaginative construal along such lines.
Another possible theriomorphic metaphor is found in the portrayal of Mwtu as a pred-
ator taking a lamb or goat in its mouth:
KTU 1.6 II 1 –1 , 21–2
an . itlk . w a d . I was going about hunting,

kl / r . l kbd . ar . In every mountain to the heart of the earth,
kl . gb‘ / l kbd . šdm . In every hill in the heart of the fields.
npš . srt / bn . nšm . My throat was lacking in humans,
npš . hmlt . ar My throat [was lacking] the hordes of the earth.
… …
ngš . ank . aliyn b‘l / Then I approached Mightiest Ba‘lu;
‘dbnn ank . imr . b py / I took him like a lamb in my mouth,
k lli . b brn q n y . n tu hw Like a kid he was crushed in the chasm of my
throat.
Though the animal here is not explicitly identified, the nature of the description at least
suggests an animal high enough in the food chain to capture a lamb or kid goat in a single
bite. Indeed, that poetic bicolon appears elsewhere in the Ba‘lu Cycle as a stereotypical
way of characterizing Mwtu (KTU 1.4 VIII 17–20): in other words, it is not a unique to a
depiction of Mwtu consuming Ba‘lu, but is a more general description of Mwtu’s tenden-
cies. Note that the verb for ‘hunting’ (ṣd) in KTU 1.6 II 15 can plausibly be applied to a
predatory animal, particularly the lion, since the Biblical Hebrew cognate (‫ )צוד‬is used
precisely in this way in Job 38:39.
In turn, a possible connection between Mwtu and the lion is bolstered by the related
passage in tablet 5 of the myth (KTU 1.5 I 14–17) which uses similar language to describe
Mwtu’s appetite. There, the lion is mentioned explicitly, but is followed by a sequence of
other animals as descriptions:
KTU 1. I 14–1 2 6
p npä.åš . npš . lbim / thw . My throat is the throat of the lion

in the wasteland,
hm . brlt . an r / b ym . And the gullet of the dolphin in the sea.
hm . brky . tkšd / rumm . It craves the pool like wild bovids,
‘n . k Ůd . aylt / Craves springs like herds of deer,
hm . imt . imt . npš . blt / mr . And, indeed, my appetite consumes in heap(s)!
26 This passage is very closely duplicated in another text, KTU 1.133.

62 Joseph Lam
Fig. 3: Scarab Seal from Tell

Keisan (from Keel 1990, 190
[n. 9], by courtesy of Peeters
Publishers and Booksellers)
At first glance, as with the passage describing Ba‘lu and Mwtu’s confrontation, the use of
multiple animals as metaphorical representations for the appetite of Mwtu would seem to
preclude his being narrowly identified with any one of them. Nonetheless, scholars have
used this passage in support of a more direct connection with the first animal listed, the
lion. The reason here comes from iconography. In particular, in the iconography of cer-
tain seals from the Levant, such as a scarab seal from Tell Keisan (see Figure 3) and another
seal impression of a certain Ini-Teshub of Carchemish impressed on a tablet discovered at
Ras Shamra, we find the motif of either a bovine or a god on a bovine defeating a lion. 27 As
Keel observes, the more common iconographic pattern is that of the victory of the feline
over the bovine, but these isolated examples of the opposite pattern, which all come from
the northern Levant, could be interpreted as re ecting the confrontations between Ba‘lu
and Mwtu in the Ba‘lu Cycle. 28 The other of the two conventional adversaries of Ba‘lu,
namely ammu, would be identified with yet other iconographic depictions that show the
storm god attacking or defeating a serpent. 29
Recognizing the highly tentative nature of this suggestion, if we take it to be valid,
how are we to understand this in light of the sequence of animals in the passage above?
It is not impossible to imagine that Mwtu could have had both a conventional animal
representation as a lion and for his appetite to be further elaborated in a literary context
via a list of other animal descriptions. In that case, it would make sense for the conven-
tional representation to stand first in the series. The poet begins with the conventional
identification, but develops it further from there. The passage in KTU 1.5 I 14–19, then,
27 See Keel 1990, 190 (n. 9) and 193 (Fig. 25), the latter of which was originally published and discussed
in Schaeffer 1956, 23–26. Keel offers several other examples in his discussion that are useful for pur-
poses of comparison.
28 Keel 1990, 192, 194.
29 For a concise discussion of this point, along with references to additional literature, see Pitard 1998,
279–280.
does not rule out a more stable, conventional association between Mwtu and the lion, yet
is also not limited by it.
Surreal Representations of Môtu
Finally, let us consider a pair of descriptions that go beyond mere anthropomorphic or

theriomorphic representation. These are reminiscent of what Greenstein calls the “surre-
al” in mythological language. The first is again a description of Mwtu’s appetite, perhaps
also evoking his leonine nature, but in a way that takes on a more cosmic character:
KTU 1. II 2–6
[…špt . l a]r . […a lip to the e]arth,

špt . l šmm / a lip to the heavens,
[yšt .]lšn . l kbkbm [he puts (his) t]ongue to the stars.
y‘rb / b‘l . b kbkbh [Ba]‘lu will enter his insides,
b ph . yrd[[. k]] / k rr . zt . Into his mouth he will descend
like a dried olive,
ybl . ar . w pr / ‘ m The produce of the earth, and fruit of the trees.
As is well known, there is a very similar description of the double deity Ša ru-and-Šalimu
in KTU 1.23 61–64 (but without the mention of the tongue reaching to the stars). In the
context of the Ba‘lu Cycle, we might first of all say that this represents a case of the gigan-
tic size of the gods taken to its logical extreme, but that by itself does not fully capture the
significance of the image.
Although it is not a direct comparison, there are certain examples of Egyptian artis-
tic representation of deities that are helpful as a general analogy for the images in ques-
tion. Particularly germane for our purposes is the representation of the sky-goddess Nut,
“whose body symbolized the vault of the sky.” 30 In one particular example of this, Nut’s
body is extended across the sky with her feet touching the ground on one side of the de-
piction and the hands touching the ground on the other side, with the body supported
underneath by Shu, the god of the air (see Figure 4). Incidentally, Nut also had multiple
representations, from an anthropomorphic form to a portrayal as a cow. 31 The point is not
to draw a direct correlation with the Ugaritic description but to demonstrate the malle-
able nature of divine representation in the ancient Near East. In fact, these examples, in
going beyond the expected ways of representing bodies, stretch the very boundaries of
our notions of the literal and the metaphorical. Unlike conventional metaphor, which
uses a relatively known concept as a way of apprehending a less familiar one, a metaphor-
ical image (the “source domain”, in cognitive terms) of lips that encompass the earth and
30 Shaw and Nicholson 1995, 207.

31 Ibid.
64 Joseph Lam
Fig. 4: The Egyptian

sky-goddess Nut (from
H. Frankfort 1933,
pl. L I, by courtesy
of The Egypt Exploration
Society)
heavens is itself an under-conceptualized, surreal image that expands the limits of our
imagination. So the effect is quite different than that of other metaphors, certainly the
ones that were discussed in the earlier sections of this essay.
The last example is the description of Mwtu being punished by ‘Anatu, which is picked
up again in the cycle by Mwtu describing what he went through (KTU 1.6 V 12–19):
KTU 1.6 II 0–
ti d / bn . ilm . mt . She seizes the son of Ilu, Mwtu,

b rb / tbq‘nn . With a sword she splits him,
b r . tdry/nn . With a winnowing-fork she winnows him,
b išt . tšrpnn / With fire she burns him,
b r m . t nn . With millstones she grinds him,
b šd / tdr‘nn . In a field she sows him.
širh . l tikl / ‘ rm . The birds eat his flesh,
mnth . l tkly[[y]] / npr[m] Fowl devour his members,
šir . l šir . y Flesh cries out for flesh.
The difficulties in this much-debated passage are too many to be fully resolvable here.
Past interpreters have been divided on the extent to which they feel that each of the ac-
tions is meant to evoke the activities of grain processing. 32 Here, one should also consider
Noga Ayali-Darshan’s contention that the description owes much to the representation
32 For discussion, see Pardee 1997a, 270 n. 257; Mazzini 1997; Margalit 1980, 158–162.
of Osiris in Egyptian mythology. 33 In the context of the present discussion, I would sim-
ply suggest that accepting a metaphorical connection either with grain in general or with
Osiris in particular (who, of course, is associated with grain) does not require every single
detail to conform to that pattern or to make perfect agricultural sense. After all, meta-
phor works just as much by indirect suggestion as it does by direct description. 34 As with
the previous example, there is an extreme quality to the image to which a mere prosaic
paraphrase cannot do justice. The “seeing-as” nature of metaphor also makes possible
various visceral effects, the reactions that extreme language produces in the reader when
one apprehends it, and here, the violence of the image (as with other images of the goddess
‘Anatu in the Ba‘lu Cycle) cannot be ignored in terms of the overall impression of the
passage.
Concluding Remarks
In light of the foregoing discussion, I would contend the term “metaphor” alone is in-
sufficient to convey the distinctions of language use that characterize the modes of rep-
resentation of deities of the kind that have been presented. Rather, what we need is a more
precise vocabulary for talking about the kinds of linguistic construals, and their effects,
that potentially take place when readers encounter these texts. In the figure of Mwtu in
33 Ayali-Darshan 2017.
34 For a stimulating discussion of the indirect ways in which metaphor functions, set within a more
capacious and exible approach to metaphor based on the idea of ¼frames of reference,¼ see Harshav
2007.
66 Joseph Lam
the Ba‘lu Cycle, we have seen that the role of metaphor can vary across the different modes
of depiction of the deity: from anthropomorphic representations, which lend themselves
most easily to a literal construal but which also need not be limited to such a mode; to
theriomorphic representations, which potentially span both the literal and metaphorical;
to yet more vivid and fantastic representations that stretch the boundary between the
literal and the metaphorical. It is important to emphasize that these representations do
not carry with them a predetermined way in which they are to be read, whether separately
or together. It is possible to imagine a divine conception in which the anthropomorphic
descriptions are a literal representation of the deity, while the theriomorphic and surreal
descriptions are taken to be metaphorical; it is also possible to see all three modes as par-
tial, metaphorical representations of a single conceptual reality that transcends them all;
one might even opt for a third model in which the idea of divine metamorphosis is the
basis for holding some or all of these images together. 35 What this exercise shows is that
we ought to avoid one-dimensional and totalizing approaches either to deities or to met-
aphor. Given the literary creativity evident in these divine images, it is only by carefully
attending to the distinct modes of metaphorical representation present in these texts that
we can fully appreciate the richness that they have to offer.
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A ur is Kin Ī
The Metaphorical Implications of
Embodiment, Personification, and Transference
in Ancient Assyria
Davide Nadali (Sapienza Università di Roma)
“La metafora ci appare come un’illuminazione diversa delle cose, come una
luce radente che illuminasse il rilievo di un dipinto. La metafora è un presen-
timento del sapere totale”
José Saramago 1
Introduction
Metaphors can be clearly recognized in the rhetoric of ancient Assyrian inscriptions and, if
used by the ancient scribes, they necessarily had a function and meaning, being based on a
system of reference and transfer, as implied by the meaning of metaphor itself. In particu-
lar, the metaphor is an expedient of the language and communication and it is expressively
used to emphasize concepts and to translate theoretical and abstract ideas and notions into
reality and something material, tangible, and visible. Within the Assyrian literary compo-
sitions, metaphors are largely employed to describe situations, emotions, and special con-
ditions: metaphors serve as a rhetoric device of speech and poetry to express with alluring
words and imageries moments, feelings, and behaviours that directly descend from a com-
mon shared understanding of the reference. This is especially evident in the use of denot-
ing people (such as enemies for example) as specific animals (e.g. bear and fox) compared
to the Assyrian king who is and acts as a lion and a bull: the categories of animals are not
casual and they automatically imply a connotation of the enemies as inferior, coward, and
devil, on one hand, and of the Assyrian king as superior, brave and honest, thus expressing
a moral judgement and provoking a resulting emotion, on the other. 2
1 Saramago J. 2019, Diario dell'anno del nobel: l'ultimo quaderno di Lanzarote, Milano: Feltrinelli (Ital-
ian translation of ltimo Caderno de Lanzarote. O diário do ano do Nobel, Porto: Porto Editora, 2018).
2 Milano 2005; Kövecses 2017.
DOI: 10.13173/9783447114370.069
70 Davide Nadali
Therefore, is analysis of the use of metaphors in Assyrian culture possible? Are meta-
phors a way of expression and key to understanding how ancient Assyrians conceived and
represented the world? Both questions have positive answers: not only has the topic been
already touched on by scholars, 3 but also the significant linguistic turn within ancient
studies had specifically pushed the research further, not only to recognize the use of a
metaphorical system of communication, but to analyse the meaning of such references
within the discourse of ancient texts and the implications they had on the recipients, with
the construction and presentation of connections to things and bodies via the allusions
to images and descriptions that, as we now know, are not exclusively mental but embod-
ied: 4 metaphors evoke images and, consequently, one can properly state that images have
metaphorical implications and nuances since they in fact embody meaning, on one hand,
and they communicate meaning, on the other. 5
In this respect, this contribution specifically focuses on the interplay between texts and
images: in fact, I do not want to deal with the linguistic use of metaphors, but rather I
prefer to investigate how metaphors in words and pictures interact and work in a comple-
mentary manner. Starting from the announcement that the priests of Aššur make on the
day of the coronation of the new king, I think that the definition has not only a magic and
ritual function establishing that the human person chosen by the god Aššur is the king,
but it also discloses deeper implications on the reciprocity and dialogue between humans
and the divine, namely the materialization of the divine power via the body of the king and
the legitimization of the Assyrian king via the body of the god, passing from a vocal proc-
lamation to a physical and tangible presence of the god in the body of the king and the king
acting on behalf of Aššur through his actions (namely his body). This means, as suggested
by Tilley, to take “metaphor out of the language and into artefacts”: 6 more interestingly,
he also points out that “rather than mirroring the world, speech can be conceived as an
extension of the human body in the world, a kind of artefact, by means of which we extend
ourselves in the world, gain knowledge of it and alter it.” 7 Tilley’s intuition goes precisely in
the direction of stressing the importance of the body as the organism that lives and acts in
the world, changing it: what does the ritual public proclamation “Aššur is King!” mean if
not the blessing and approval of the human king who goes in the world, extends the knowl-
edge and power of Aššur, thereby precisely fulfilling the directive of the national god? 8
As already indicated, the translation of a concept and idea via metaphor, expresses
emotions or, in using the words of the Italian philosopher Giambattista Vico, it can be
said that poetry (by means of metaphor) “lends sense and passion to senseless things.” 9
3 For what concerns ancient Assyria, see for example Ponchia 1987 and 2009; Van De Mieroop 2015.
4 Lakoff and Johnson 2003; Gallese and Lakoff 2005; Cuccio and Fontana 2017.
5 For an attempt of the use of metaphors in pictures, specifically in the Assyrian context, see the anal-
ysis by Portuese 2018.
6 Tilley 1999, 35.
7 Ibid., 34.
8 Machinist 2006, 157, 187; Liverani 2017, 3–18.
9 “[…] la Metafora, ch’allora vieppi lodata, quando alle cose insensate ella dà senso, e passione per
la Metafisica sopra qui ragionata” (Vico 2018, 932).
Aššur is King! 71
In this regard, Vico’s thought is particularly illuminating as it points to the materiali-

ty of metaphors, actually entering and, one would say, anticipating the matter of recent
material turns in the recent trends of cognitive archaeology. 10 In his thought, sensitivity
is the first capacity of first people: human beings are immersed in matter in their bodies
and are unable to process impulses rationally so they transport them outside, animating
the world and giving birth to myth and religion. Sense and passions are understood by
Vico as not only sensations that provide images that would therefore have a representative
function. For Vico they are also feelings that give life to images that would therefore have
a projective function: I think that this idea of a projective function of the images created
and evoked by metaphors can be fruitfully used and applied to explain the implications of
the use of a metaphorical language, both verbally and visually. In particular, if metaphors
produce images, what can we say about the metaphorical implications of images them-
selves? In fact, if poetry and metaphors make use of images to translate immaterial things
into material ones, how do images (that are material per se) act and work in the system of
communication? Can they be considered as representations of projections? Too often im-
ages are considered and treated as a mere visualization of texts and words, while they are
an independent system of communication, sharing something with texts in a complemen-
tary and mutual way: in the context of the Assyrian images, in fact, one cannot simply
conclude that palace bas-reliefs are the visualization of the military events recorded in the
Annals of the king; of course, visual narratives are based upon the military conquests that
are also celebrated in the royal official inscriptions, but they are not a mimetic visual ad-
aptation of the content of texts. 11 The same happens for metaphors: the verbal metaphor
not only produces mental images, but those images are materially and concretely shaped,
and therefore they act on their own, being both the representation and the projection of
a concept (a thing without sense) that also conveys emotions, feelings, and, as Vico says,
passion: this seems indeed particularly true when we think of the use of the human body,
its parts and its senses to decode, understand, and eventually represent the world around
us; 12 in this respect, it is only through the action of the human body of the king that the in-
animate (to use Vico’s attribute) plans of the god Aššur become real. At the same time, if
verbal metaphors evoke mental images, it can also be true that visual metaphors evoke and
resort to language in order to be interpreted and understood: this is precisely explained by
the interplay between texts and images that however should not be limited to the fact that
images make words visible and that words explain, as a caption, the figures.
But why do we use metaphors? Metaphors convey other meanings, or perhaps it is
better to say that they point out the real meaning of a concept by emphasizing aspects and
references to the world around us: in particular, metaphors make humans to share a com-
mon vision of the world by using expressions built upon a common language and system
10 As argued by Tilley 1999.

11 Nadali 2019a.
12 Vico 2018, 932–933: “quello che degno d’osservazione, che ‘n tutte le Lingue la maggior parte
dell’espressioni d’intorno a cose inanimate sono fatte con trasporti del corpo umano, e delle sue
parti, e degli umani sensi, e dell’umane passioni.”
72 Davide Nadali
of references to the things, objects, and the living around them. However, this does not
imply that all metaphors have a universal value for all cultures and languages, but they
need to be analysed contextually: if metaphors are a universal mechanism to be found in
the functioning of the human brain, they are at the same time different and vary from one
culture to another and even within the same culture. 13
The metaphorical verbal and visual expressions referring to animals and parts of the
body are a direct reference to known and even named entities that clearly provide a re-
minder of, evoke, and point out a transferred meaning: the power of metaphors is the con-
tinuous interchange and conveyance of meaning, a concept becomes real and concrete via
its translation into a verbal and/or visual metaphor. Metaphors are not only a rhetorical
device, but they are a mental and embodied operation: this operation can be both con-
scious and unconscious. On the one hand, the metaphor is intentionally used to express
a transferred meaning (from the object/animal/item to the characteristics it conveys); on
the other, metaphors can be the result of an automatic and implicit verbal and visual code
that is based on the mechanism by which we (with our body as projection) see, interpret
and communicate with the external world and the others around us.
Metaphors in Assyria
Within the Assyrian inscriptions, scribes often make use of similes to describe both the
Assyrian king and his counterpart, the enemy king: similes are a rhetoric device and are
built on the precise and direct reference between two parts – this is usually made clear
by the use of the adverb “like”. Indeed, similes and metaphors are often confused and ex-
changed, but, although they function on a system of reference and conveyance, they have
different implications: while similes put two subjects on the same level (A is like B and,
as consequence, one can infer that B is like A), metaphors are a system of expressions and
combination of words that convey reference (as in fact similes do) and transport to seman-
tic fields, implying concepts such as transfer or substitution (according to the usual Aris-
totelian interpretation of metaphors); however metaphors find a more correct and cogent
explanation when the idea of substitution is combined with the notions of resemblance
and interaction that are not in contrast, but they rather point to a dynamic and dialogic
correlation between the elements that are compared. 14 Metaphors do not simply compare
two parts, but they make one part share behaviours, emotions, and feelings of the other.
Moreover, as we will see, while similes are built on reciprocity, metaphors are not.
Both Assyrian kings and the enemy kings are compared to animals, with a clear dis-
tinction between the animals used to exalt the Assyrian monarch and the animals used
to describe bad qualities, such as cowardice, wickedness, and disloyalty of the enemies.
Similes are based on the typical linguistic construction of the like system: the phraseology
13 Lakoff and Johnson 2003, 57–58; Kövecses 2005.

14 See the considerations by Ricur (1975, 221–271) on the implication of the resemblance in relation
to the substitution and interactions.
Aššur is King! 73
therefore implies an exact comparison between the king and the animal, with an implicit
metaphorical transfer of the qualities of the animal to the person.
Within the Assyrian similes used to describe the heroic quality of the Assyrian king,
the lion is the predominant element of comparison and reference: 15 texts explicitly say that
the Assyrian king is belligerent – (he fights) like a lion – and more directly, the Assyrian
king states that he is a lion. In this regard, the metaphor of the king-lion becomes clearly
defined in the metaphorical images of the representation of the duel between the Assyrian
king and the lion in the palace wall reliefs 16 and, even more interestingly, in the Assyrian
state stamp seals. 17 The Assyrian state seal represents two, apparently, opposite characters
and qualities: the human-lion (the king) faces the animal-lion who, standing on its hind
legs, looks at the king into the eyes (eye-to-eye) and acts as a human being; if the Assyrian
king, being a lion and fighting like a lion, acquires the positive quality of pride bravery
and strength of the animal, why do images represent the king killing the lion? If enemies
are compared to animals such as the bear or the fox, 18 why do the palace wall reliefs and
the state stamp seal not represent the duel between the Assyrian king and those negatively
connoted animals?
Based on the metaphor that the king is a lion, thus implying not only a resemblance
but even a substitution, the killing of the animal by the Assyrian king would represent a
self-killing, a suicide: the value expressed by the metaphor explains the nature of the image
that is purposely chosen for the state stamp seals. I suggest that the construction of the
figurative motif of the Assyrian state seal is a synthesis of simile and metaphor: the image is
a visual simile – the king is like the lion – and the representation of killing the lion (the ac-
tion) has the metaphorical meaning of identifying the two poles of the dichotomy nature /
culture and uncivilised world / the civilised system of the cities and the Assyrian State em-
15 The figure of the lion, with all its implications linked to heroic and brave positive values that can
eventually assume the negative connotations of threat and disorder, is very common in the ancient
civilizations of the Ancient Near East, since the most ancient times, both in visual records (if one
thinks, for example, of the Lion-Hunt Stele from Uruk) and Sumerian and Akkadian literature (see
Watanabe 2002, 42–56, 89–92; Strawn 200, 131–228; Ulanowski 2015). In this respect, the Assyri-
an kings inherit and take on a long-lasting widespread tradition, not exclusively Mesopotamian but
with deepest roots in Syria (starting from 3rd millennium BC visual documents from Ebla, Matthiae
1989; Peyronel 2019) and in the Levant (with the use of the lion-metaphor in the Hebrew Bible that,
as rightly pointed out by Strawn 2005, 238, does not necessarily depend on an Assyrian loan and
in uence; in fact, the use of lions as distinctive divine and royal element in Syrian art, from the 3rd
millennium BC, represents the more suitable background from where Southern Levantine visual and
textual lion-references might have been taken). In fact, Assyrian art itself might have had a Western
(Syrian) origin and in uence, particularly in the design of the duel between the king, on one side, and
the lion, on the other, around a central axis (Winter 1982 and 1989; Matthiae 1989; Aro 2009).
16 See the lion-hunt bas-reliefs of Ashurbanipal in rooms S and S’ of the North Palace at Nineveh,
Barnett 1976, pls. LI , LVI.
17 Nadali 2009–2010.
18 Milano 2005.
74 Davide Nadali
bodied by the king. 19 This interpretation is in fact valid and it precisely corresponds to the
prerogatives of the Assyrian king in pacifying and protecting the world by eliminating evil
and dangerous animals; indeed, the representation of enemies as animals is also part of the
Assyrian vision of the world, that is enemies as animals and because of their animal nature
must be eliminated through military actions. However, I think that the meaning of the
lion-combat image of the state stamp seal points to the simile “the king is a lion”: because
of this association, the king can (must?) be the only lion without any rival. In this regard,
the killing of the lion does not only involve the broad contrast between two domains (ani-
mals vs humans), but it is rather a personal affair, the king in front of his exact counterpart,
his alter ego and I therefore suggest that this special condition explains the metaphorical
consequence of the simile, where the reciprocal connection (the king is like the lion so the
lion is like the king) is, in some way, if not broken, then suspended or at least re-adjusted.
Lion-hunt narratives are sculpted on the palace wall reliefs of Assurnasirpal II at Nim-
rud and Ashurbanipal at Nineveh; on the other hand, the lion-combat occurs on the state
stamp seals of the Assyrian administration: if lion-hunt narratives (with the killing of the
lions and the libation on the corpses) can in fact be interpreted as the representation of
the opposition between human civilization and nature, the lion-combat of the state seals
summarises the prerogatives of the Assyrian king who, being a lion, cannot tolerate and
accept any other lion. Indeed, in looking at the state seals and the later lion-hunt reliefs
of Ashurbanipal, a process of inverse quotation can be recognised: while seals usually
refer to palace wall panels, 20 the icon of the king killing the lion with the sword is exactly
reproduced in the bas-reliefs of the North Palace. 21 In this regard, the image of the state
seals is not a framed adaptation from a longer complex narrative; on the contrary, it is re-
used and inserted within a narrative as the final moment of the confrontation between
the king and the feline.
The choice of the lion-combat as the distinctive icon of state stamp seals cannot be
casual: the image expresses at its best, within the circular frame of the stamp, sometimes
surrounded by a cuneiform inscription naming the Assyrian king, the supremacy of the
lion-king on the lion-animal. This visual sign not only makes the metaphor concrete, but
the seal makes the metaphor travel: the object is carried by the Assyrian official in the
territory of the empire and the image is impressed on any goods belonging to the crown
19 Maul 1995; Westenholz 2000, 114. The lion can in fact also be employed as a metaphor for the
enemy (in the Hebrew Bible the lion stands for the Assyrians who are, in that context, the enemy;
Machinist 1983; Strawn 2005, 52, 134): in this respect, its anger, wildness, and savagery are negative
and pejorative qualities, a threat to the order of the world. As a consequence, only when those qual-
ities are referred to the king and mastered by the king (embodying them), do they acquire a positive
aspect: it is interesting to note the diffusion of the iconography of the hero mastering wild animals
(lions and bulls, not casually two species that have a royal value), as it happens in the cylinder seal of
the Early Dynastic period of ancient Mesopotamia (Mayer-Opificius 2006). In this case, bulls and
lions are the threat that needs to be controlled by the hero and the king.
20 Winter 2000, 79–81.
21 See fn. 15.
Aššur is King! 75
and any document emanated from the state. 22 The seal itself, bearing the visual metaphor,
becomes a metaphor: the combination of the lion-combat and the validation effect of
the use of the seal define what we can label a meta-metaphor, that is the occurrence of
a metaphor within a metaphor or a metaphor doubled, squared. At this point, it is also
important to single out the value of the seal as a material object: each official received this
distinctive sign that entrusted him with the power and authority to act on behalf of the
Assyrian king. The state seal was not the personal seal of the official nor it was the person-
al seal of the king: the visual metaphor of “the king is a lion” worked as the personification
of the state administration and the possession of this seal also functioned as a “fetish”
giving power, 23 but also warranty and protection to the beholder.
As already pointed out, similes are normally based on a direct and reciprocal relation-
ship: A is like B and therefore one might conclude that B is like A. On the contrary, we can
say that metaphors are less direct, but they open a broader kaleidoscopic range of references
and interplays. In this regard, the proclamation of the Assyrian king is an interesting exam-
ple of the functioning of metaphors: the wording “Aššur is king” can be seen as a match for
the expression “the king is a lion.” However, it is not an exact equation, it is not based on
reciprocity, the king is not Aššur: to a certain extent, it is correct to speak of the divinity of
the Assyrian kingship, 24 but not in the way that the king is the god and is deified.
The Assyrian king, who is in fact called vicar (išši’akkû) and šangû of the god, 25 repre-
sents the god Aššur: 26 the two terms point to the office of kingship having both admin-
istrative and cultic duties. In the ritual proclamation the figure of the god prevails: the
formalization of the person who becomes king of Assyria happens because the name of
the god is invoked; Aššur, who is already king of the gods as described in the Tablet of
Destinies, 27 is transferring his kingship to his chosen one who, by virtue of his physical
and moral qualities, becomes king of Assyria.
The designation via the invocation of the name of Aššur not only explains the divine
origin of the royal power, 28 but it also founds the special relationship existing between the
national god and the king: once designated, the king acts on behalf and with the reassur-
ance of Aššur; 29 not only does the king relies upon him for the positive outcome of the
annual military campaigns and the success of any battle, 30 but he also has a duty to report
22 Nadali 2009–2010.
23 On the meaning of fetish in visual art, see Mitchell 2005, 188–196 and Nadali forthcoming.
24 Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 225–228.
25 On the meaning and use of the two terms, see Machinist 2006, 153, 155; Pongratz-Leisten 2015,
202–205.
26 Parker 2011, 364–365.
27 George 1986, 134.
28 Not only was voice involved, but also touch: in the Royal Coronation Ritual (SAA 7) it is ex-
pressly said that the priest of Aššur “slaps the king’s cheek in their presence” and thus says “Aššur is
king, Aššur is king!”.
29 Liverani 2017, 27–34.
30 As reported in the annals of Assurnasirpal II, while Šamaš, in the accession year, gives the Assyrian
king the sceptre (political instrument) for the shepherding of the people (Grayson 1991, A.0.101.1
76 Davide Nadali
the results of the military achievements. This is made by a letter that the king directly ad-
dresses to the god Aššur in the city of Assur: 31 the reading was probably made publicly in
front of the people of the city and this was the only occasion where non-elite people were
involved in official ceremonies. 32
“Aššur is king” can thus work as a metaphor of phenomenology: the divine becomes
concrete via the body of the person who was chosen to be the king of the Land of Aššur.
Although god and king are clearly distinct, they share intents, aims and, to a certain extent,
physical features: 33 the person called by name by Aššur to be king and to be put on the
throne of Assyria needs to have a perfect body that can be the recipient of the divine choice.
In this respect, the Assyrian king has to have the physique du role, a prerequisite for being
selected by the god to embody the kingship: 34 this would explain the visual rendering and
appearance of the images of the kings that share, from the 9th to the 7th century BC, the
same recurrent facial characteristics. Again, the notion of resemblance implied by Ricœur
in the analysis of metaphor also occurs in the domain of images: 35 the face, within a met-
aphorical system of reference, works as a metonymy for the whole; we perceive the person
in terms of his face and therefore act on those perceptions (also in terms of interpreting
and sharing emotions). 36 The definition of the facial features leads to the question of the
portrait in Assyrian art: can we speak of portraits of the Assyrian king? Can we really
recognize facial distinctions in different royal pictures? As Irene Winter pointed out, the
question of Assyrian portraiture should not be explained in terms of correct rendering
and translation of physiognomy of the individual; rather, the faces of the kings, because
they are based on coded references to beard, eyes, and nose, are the portrait of an Assyrian
king or, as a consequence, of the Assyrian kingship. 37 The precise reference to coded facial
features makes, beyond stylistic differences that can be recognized from the 9th to the 7th
century BC, all Assyrian faces identical: this led to the denial of the existence of portraits
(at least according to our common acceptance) and the consequent idea of repetitiveness of
Assyrian art. However, once we know that the chosen king must have a perfect body, that
those perfections are based on recurrent approved physical features, and that the use of the
term portrait needs to be correctly connoted, it is clear how the repetitiveness is not a lack
of skills and originality of the Assyrian artists, but rather a required mark. 38
i 43b–54a), Aššur gives the Assyrian king “his merciless weapon” (military instrument) to defeat
enemies and conquer new territories (Grayson 1991, A.0.101.1 i 17b–18a). Again, in the rite in the
Assyrian military camp, the weapon of Aššur (the arrow) is invoked (Deller 1992, 341–346), and
it might be supposed that the winged deity with arrow and bow in Assurnasirpal II’s bas-reliefs at
Nimrud might consequently be identified with Aššur (Nadali 2019b, 666).
31 Fales 1991 and 2017.
32 Liverani 2010, 230.
33 Bonatz 2017, 58.
34 Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 208–209.
35 See fn. 14.
36 Wagner-Durand 2017.
37 Winter 2009.
38 Nadali 2012, 586.
Aššur is King! 77
What about the representation of the god Aššur? 39 Once the coded references to god-
ship (such as the horned headgear or the animals on which the god usually stands) are
isolated, the body and facial features of the god nearly perfectly match the ones of the
Assyrian king: or, one could argue the reverse process is more correct, that is the body and
face of the king re ect the face of the god. The special correspondence, pointing out the
perfection of the body shape of the king, is expressly explained by the fact that the king
is the tamšxl ili: 40 the Akkadian word tamšilu points to a special relation, based on resem-
blance and correspondence, 41 implying that between the god and the king a dialogue and
a connection exist, but the king is dependent on the god. 42
In this regard, it is clear that the king is a product of the god, “the creation of his
hands”: 43 kingship is entrusted with divinity; on the other hand, the king acts as the rep-
resentative and armed branch of the god, but he is not the god, he does not substitute the
deity. Kingship and king: it might be a subtle, non-sense, difference, but while the office
may be considered divine, the officiant is not. 44 In this regard, it is interesting to note that
the Assyrian kings refer to ṣalam šarrūtxya (“image of my kingship”) when they want to
indicate their own images: usually interpreted as a statue, ṣalmu can in fact be any other
visual type representing the king or, as the Assyrians themselves state, the kingship (šar-
rūtu). 45 Therefore, ṣalam šarrūtxya does not refer to the representation of the king, i.e.:
it is not a portrait, nor when the specification tamšxl bunnannîya is added; 46 rather it is
the representation of the kingship that, by virtue of the divine selection made by Aššur,
temporally becomes a property of the Assyrian king – this explains the addition of the
suffix -xya, ‘my’. Zainab Bahrani suggests that ṣalam šarrūtxya can be translated as “image
or physical manifestation of my kingship”, 47 that might be further personalized with the
reference to the facial features of the king – bunnannû refers to the details of the face, in
particular the eyes and nose. 48
The physical and facial qualities define the perfect body of the king who can actually
be chosen by Aššur because of this perfection; however, notwithstanding this, they are
not enough to support an automatic substitution: while Aššur is king (he is already the
king of the gods and via the coronation ritual he becomes king of the Assyrians through
his chosen human emissary), the Assyrian king acquires the status of monarch without
sharing the divine nature of Aššur, but embodying Aššur. Examples of embodiment of
gods by the kings existed in Assyria and they are expressly indicated in texts. Incantations
39 Berlejung 2007, 15–18.

40 Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 209.
41 On the meaning and interpretation of the Akkadian word tamšilu, see Glassner 2017; Nadali 2018.
42 Nadali 2018, 202.
43 SAA III 11, l. 15.
44 Machinist 2006, 186–188.
45 Morandi 1988, 105–106; Winter 1995 and. 1997, 364–366; Bahrani 2003, 135; Glassner 2017; Nadali
2012 and 2018.
46 Winter 1997, 368–369; Berlejung 1998, 66–68; Nadali 2018, 203.
47 Bahrani 2003, 135.
48 Nadali and Verderame 2019.
78 Davide Nadali
and ritual texts testify the use of linguistic construction such as šarru ṣalam amaš or šar-
ru ṣalam Marduk: 49 the term ṣalmu indicates an independent being, standing for the god,
acting as the god, by simply being the god himself. 50 However, this special occurrence
needs to be contextualised: rites and incantations are part of a special category of texts,
with magic implications and qualities. In these contexts, the king can be the ṣalmu of the
god, but only momentarily because he is called to fulfil duties and functions that are both
required and authorised by the texts themselves. 51
In this regard, the remarks recently made by Jean-Jacques Glassner on Ashurbanipal’s
so-called coronation hymn (SAA III 11) are extremely interesting: the proclamation “Aššur
is king — indeed Aššur is king! Assurbanipal is the [representative] of Aššur, the creation
of his hands” is differently rendered as “(Le dieu) Assur est roi! Assurément, (le dieu)
Assur est roi! Assurbanipal est à l’image du (dieu) Assur, il est la création de ses mains!”. 52
As for the other occurrences when the king is called the image of Marduk or Šamaš, the
king is – in the precise moment when he is designated as the Assyrian king – the image of
Aššur or, as Bahrani would say, the “physical manifestation” of the god: through this rite
and invocation, the Assyrian king acquires and shares virtues and aspects of Aššur and
for this reason I think that the proclamation precisely works as a metaphoric formula that
makes the invisible visible, the god Aššur is embodied by the king, although the king is
not totally identical to the god (he is not a mimetic copy). 53 This special relationship and
encounter between the god and the king is moreover emphasised by the fact that the cor-
onation occurred in the temple of the national god in the city of Assur, in front of Aššur,
namely in front of his ṣalmu: 54 the god, already manifested in his ṣalmu, manifests one
more time in the body of the king who, metaphorically, is in fact the ṣalam d Aššur.
Conclusion
The evaluation of the use and implication of metaphors contribute to understanding how
the world and the relationships between categories, entities, and stakeholders were con-
ceived, explained, and translated verbally and visually. Senseless things become clearer,
and metaphors are no longer a question of rhetoric style, but an embodied process that
49 Machinist 2006, 165–174; Nadali and Verderame 2019, 237.

50 Nadali 2018, 201. Pongratz-Leisten (2015, 219–225) speaks of the “homogeneity in action between
the Gods and the King” pointing out the capacity and authority of the king in acting, changing
and, I would argue, manifesting and sharing the divine “radiance” and “effulgence”. This special
royal characterization and condition is clearly described in Tukulti-Ninurta Epic where all these spe-
cificities of the Assyrian kingship are established: the king is radiant, vehement, and frightful, he is
made of the “ esh of the gods” (šxr ilāni) and finally he is the “image of Enlil” (ṣalam d Enlil). See
Machinist 2006, 160–164.
51 Frahm 2013, 102–103.
52 Aš-šur-DÙ.[A *A]LA[N š]á d Aš-šur bi-nu-ut ŠU11-šú (Glassner 2017, 219). Emphasis mine.
53 Nadali 2012, 584.
54 SAA 7, ll. 14–30.
Aššur is King! 79
discloses dialogic interconnections and correspondences among different domains: in

particular, the examples that have been taken into consideration here have a precise visual
and material manifestation.
The metaphor of the “king is a lion” not only works in the reference and allusion to the
lion-animal, but it concretely works as being an image carved onto the Assyrian state seal
and impressed on the goods belonging to the crown: the meaning of the metaphor can
be rightly considered distributive (or projective according to Vico’s definition), towards
the officials who were provided with the lion-combat seal and towards the actions that
physically marked goods and documents as royal.
The metaphorical implication of “Aššur is king” is the result of ritual chain reactions
that, by virtue of being ritual, necessarily change the status quo: the person chosen by
the god Aššur becomes king of Assyria, he therefore acts as the physical manifestation of
god, he can portray himself as the physical manifestation of the Assyrian kingship and,
because of this, he can – he must – keep a constant dialogue with his Creator.
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How Did They Thin ?
Towards Use of Metaphor Theories to Research
the Hittite Conceptual World
Marta Pallavidini (Freie Universität Berlin)
This contribution explores the possibility of accessing the Hittites’ system of thinking.
In particular, it will be shown that by analyzing written sources via conceptual metaphor
theory, deliberate metaphor theory, and conceptual blending theory, as well as by apply-
ing the metaphor identification procedure in order to identify conceptual metaphors, it is
possible to reconstruct a picture of the conceptual world of Hittite culture.
Accessing Their Minds
Every scholar who deals with ancient cultures dreams of finding a way of knowing how
these ancient humans thought about fundamental concepts like emotion, desire, morali-
ty, society, politics, economy, communication, time, life and death, human relationships,
religion, events and actions. 1 Unfortunately, we cannot ask them to explain their concep-
tual world to us, so it is necessary to find another way of accessing the cognitive level of
ancient people.
Being able to describe the system of thinking of ancient humans can, in fact, shed light
on long-debated issues (generally different from culture to culture) by looking at them
from a different perspective. Furthermore, building a picture of the conceptual world of
an ancient culture means gaining deeper knowledge of the language(s) they wrote and
spoke, and this will enable scholars to read and interpret textual sources more coherently.
For some ancient cultures like the Greeks and Romans, the work of philosophers has
facilitated scholars’ access to the system of thinking of these ancient cultures; for other
cultures, their conceptual level is almost completely beyond the reach of today’s scholars.
This is the case with the Hittites. The Hittite archives are known to consist of more
than 30,000 fragments of clay tablets, written in cuneiform in several different languages:
Hittite, Akkadian, Luwian, Sumerian, Palaic, Hattic and Hurrian. The exact number of
documents remains difficult to ascertain, but what is clear is that none of the texts found
1 On these concepts, see Kövecses 2002, 20–25.
DOI: 10.13173/9783447114370.085
86 Marta Pallavidini
to date can be classified as a treatise that opens a passage to the conceptual world of the
Hittites. In the same fashion, the study of written sources from historical, linguistic, phil-
ological and anthropological perspectives has enriched our knowledge about the Hittites
enormously – their culture, beliefs, society, economic system, political history and cultic
practices; yet such approaches to the study of written sources have only hinted sporadi-
cally at the question of how the Hittites thought. Thus far, no comprehensive study has
been dedicated to this topic in the field of Hittitology, yet I want to point out, using two
examples, the importance of being able to build a picture of their conceptual world.
The first example concerns the Hittite term išḫiul, which means ‘treaty’. 2 As indicated
in the etymology, the term is a derivate of the verb išḫai- išḫiya-, which means ‘to bind’.
It is clear from examples provided by the Hethitisches Wörterbuch2 that in some contexts,
the verb has very concrete meanings, while in others, the action of binding is figurative. 3
An instance of concrete meaning is illustrated by passage KUB 17.12, Rev. III 16–18 of
the ritual of Bappi: 4 nu GIG-zi kuin antuḫšan (17) n=an PA-NI ZAG.GAR.RA SÌGpittulit
(18) ŠUḪI.A-[Š]U išḫiyanzi “the man whom the disease seizes, you bind his hands with a
rope in front of an altar.” In contrast with this vivid and very concrete image, the verb can
also assume a figurative meaning. For instance, in CTH 266, instruction for palace per-
sonnel, we read the following in the right column, line 15: MUNUŠ.MEŠwannummiuš KIN-an
išḫai “you shall obligate the unmated women to the work.” Here, išḫai (literally meaning
“you shall bind”) is rendered a figurative nuance by “you shall obligate.” Since the term
išḫiul is derived from the verb išḫai- išḫiya-, a concrete meaning of ‘bond’ is expected.
Yet, to my knowledge, the word is never attributed this literal meaning. As we can infer
from passages translated in the Hethitisches Wörterbuch2, 5 and in the Hittite Etymologi-
cal Dictionary, 6 išḫiul is always used with its figurative meaning of “binding; obligation;
injunction; statute; treaty.” 7 This feature is more than a simple description of the use of
Hittite language; it hints at the Hittites’ system of thinking.
In fact, it is possible to infer that in their conceptual world, the idea of a juridically
enforced connection was expressed via the very concrete concept of a bond. 8
The second example that I want to present is largely attested not only in Hittite docu-
ments but in other ancient Near Eastern sources as well. I refer to use of terms related to
the concept of family in order to indicate different relations among kings. This practice
is very well established in Hittite documentation, in particular, the exchange of letters
between kings.
2 “Verp ichtung, Regelung, Vorschrift, Vertrag” (HW2, Lfg. 24, 2014, 146).
3 See HW2, Lfg. 23–24, 2014, 112–117.
4 CTH 431. For the edition, see S. Görke (ed), hethiter.net/: CTH 431 (INTR 2015–05–27).
5 HW2, Lfg. 24, 2014, 146–150.
6 HED, Vol. 2, E–I, 400–401.
7 Ibid. The concrete meaning is offered by other terms derived from išḫai- išḫiya-: (TÚG)išḫiyal- (‘bond,
band, belt’) and (KUŠ)išḫima n - (‘string, line, cord, rope, strap’) (see HW2, Lfg. 24, 2014, 142–146
and HED, Vol. 2, E–I, 399–400).
8 In other cultures, the focus is not on binding obligation but on discussion that ends with agree-
ment, like in lat. tractatus (it. trattato, eng. treaty).
How Did They Think? 87
Two kings of equal rank, in fact, called each other “brother.” 9 The word “brother” is
often employed at the beginning of letters as part of the greeting formula. 10 This appel-
lation is attested in all corpora of international correspondence among Hittite kings with
equally ranked rulers, i.e., in Hittite-Assyrian, Hittite-Babylonian and Hittite-Egyptian
correspondence. In the latter in particular, the appellation is very frequently used, 11 not
only because more letters have been found in the Hittite capital than in other corpora but
also because between Ḫatti and Egypt, the alliance was actually formalized by the issue
of a treaty. 12 Among others, in letter KUB 3.22, 13 sent by Ramses II to Ḫattušili, in Obv.
2, the former addresses the latter with the following words: ana mḪattušili LUGAL.GAL
L[UGAL KUR Ḫatti] ŠEŠ-ya qib ma (“to Ḫattušili, Great King, K[ing of Ḫatti], my
brother, say”).
This second example offers not simply a further clue as to what Hittites thought about
a specific concept (i.e., international society) but also shows how this conceptualization
played a role in political and diplomatic discourse, since the unbalanced relation between
Hittite kings and their subordinates was conceptualized using the respective terms “lord”
and “servant”.
These two examples make it clear that having access to the way the Hittites thought
may help us gain more precise and deeper knowledge of the functioning of the language,
the structuring of political thought and the making of diplomacy.
The goal should be to have a complete picture of the Hittite conceptual world and to
do this, the way these conceptualizations worked needs to be defined. It is also important
that a method is designed, facilitating identification of how the concepts were expressed
in texts.
An Innovative Theoretical Approach
In general, the process of defining one thing in terms of something else is called meta-
phor. 14 A metaphor, though, traditionally indicates a linguistic phenomenon 15 while for
this research, it is necessary to also include the cognitive process that produces the linguis-
9 On the topic of brotherhood in connection to ancient Near Eastern kings, see Podany 2010.
10 On the different formulations of greetings at the beginning of letters, see Hagenbuchner 1989, 40–
55 and Hoffner 2009, 25–29.
11 For attestations in Hittite-Assyrian correspondence, see Mora-Giorgieri 2004, 226; for Hittite-Bab-
ylonian correspondence, see Hagenbuchner 1989, 281–302; for Hittite-Egyptian correspondence,
see Edel 1994, passim.
12 On the possible stipulation of treaties also with Assyria and Babylonia, see Devecchi 2015.
13 Edel 1994, 50–51.
14 See Aristotle, Poetics, 1457b, 6–7.
15 See, for instance, the Oxford English Dictionary definition, where metaphor is defined as “a figure
of speech in which a name or descriptive word or phrase is transferred to an object or action dif-
ferent from, but analogous to, that to which it is literally applicable” (http://www.oed.com/view/
Entry/117328?redirectedFrom=metaphor¶eid).
tic expression. The theory according to which metaphor pervades our everyday life “not
just in language but in thought and action” 16 was developed by G. Lakoff and M. Johnson
in the book Metaphors We Live By (1980). These phenomena are treated as “conceptual
metaphors” and are defined as the mapping between a source domain (generally more
concrete) and a target domain (generally more abstract). 17
To refer to just one typical example of conceptual metaphors, we can quote the sen-
tence “I am feeling up today.” In this case, “up” means “good.” “Up” is a very intuitive
source domain and is used to metaphorize the abstract idea of “good.” 18
The definition fits very well with the examples from written Hittite sources that are
considered above. In fact, in the first case, the abstract idea of a legal agreement is concep-
tualized with the concrete idea of the bond, hence the metaphor a le al a reement
is a bond.
In the second example, the source domain is the family; the target domain is the inter-
national society, and the conceptual metaphor that originates from mapping the former
onto the latter is international society is a family.
The conceptual metaphor theory has one important postulate that must be considered
in the study of Hittite documents. In fact, according to Lakoff and Johnson, conceptual
metaphors are conventional. In particular, Lakoff and Johnson define as conventional,
metaphors that “structure the ordinary conceptual system of our culture, which is re ect-
ed in our everyday language.” 19
This postulate holds true, but it deserves further elaboration when related to Hittite
texts. The metaphor international society is a family is, in fact, less conventional
than expected. Use of this metaphor was widespread throughout the whole Near East
before the Hittites, but some documents from the Hittite capital prove that the metaphor
was understood as such and its relevance in political discourse was exploited ad hoc.
In KUB 3.42+, a letter sent from Ramses to Ḫattušili after the stipulation of the trea-
ty, 20 we read in Obv. 31–32: u ninu k[i ŠEŠMEŠ ša 1-en abi u ša 1-et MUNUSAM]A “we are like
brothers, from one father and one mother.” 21
16 Lakoff and Johnson 1980, 3.

17 For a list and discussion of the most common source and target domain, see Kövecses 2002, 16–25.
Lakoff and Johnson’s idea that metaphors are products of our system of thinking was not new and
can be traced back to G. Vico (see Danesi 2001; for an overview of other positions close to the cogni-
tive approach, see Arduini and Fabbri 2014, 33–41) and, to some extent, even to Aristotle. More re-
cently, ideas close to conceptual metaphor theory have been proposed by Richards 1936; Black 1962;
Ortony 1979. However, it was with publication of Metaphors we live by that the idea of metaphors
being conceptual in nature became a fully- edged theory, adding momentum to a long-standing
debate.
18 For this and other examples of the same kind, see Lakoff and Johnson 1980, 14–17.
20 References to brotherhood in Obv. 20 and 23 suggest that the letter dates from after the stipulation
of the treaty, since it ratifies the alliance between the two kings.
21 Edel 1994, 86–87.
A similar expression is also attested in KUB 23.103, a letter belonging to Hittite-Assyr-

ian correspondence. 22 The expression in Obv. 4 is, in fact, [Š]A 1EN ABI AMA kišdummat
“we have become [(as brothers]) from one father and mother.” 23
In these two letters, the metaphor of brotherhood is explained in very simple terms: to
be allies is like being brothers in a literal sense, that is, sons of the same father and mother.
The explanation of the metaphor implies, in my opinion, that the metaphor was, in fact,
understood as such and was exploited in diplomatic discourse in order to underline not
only the equality of rank but also of the good relations between the kings.
This idea is confirmed by letter KUB 23.102. 24 In Obv. II 14–15, the Hittite king asks
the question: zik za kán ammuq a [1]-edani [AMA]-ni ḫaššanteš “have you and I been
born from one mother?” 25 Unlike the previous two expressions, in this text, the metaphor
is exploited not to stress the existence of an alliance but, on the contrary, to deny it by
using a rhetorical question about actual brotherhood.
All three cases show that the concept of brotherhood was understood as a metaphor, so
it is possible to define this conceptual metaphor as deliberate. According to the deliberate
metaphor theory developed by G. Steen, a metaphor is deliberate when the addressees
“must pay attention to the source domain as an independent conceptual domain (…) that
they are instructed to use to think about the target of the metaphor.” 26
A further postulate of the conceptual metaphor theory is that being a cognitive phe-
nomenon, metaphor is not to be considered a figure of speech (something present only in
literary texts and rhetoric) but rather something that could potentially arise in any lin-
guistic source.
Yet, in the analysis of literary texts, it is necessary to distinguish between conventional,
everyday metaphors and the metaphorical images that are (in the words of Aristotle) “the
hallmark of the genius.” 27
G. Lakoff and M. Turner have dedicated a specific work to this topic. In More than
Cool Reason, they explain that “it is a prerequisite to any discussion of metaphor that we
make a distinction between basic conceptual metaphors, which are cognitive in nature,
and particular linguistic expressions of these conceptual metaphors.” 28 It follows that
metaphors in literary texts are not unconventional as conceptual metaphor but rather in
their linguistic expression.
22 The letter was sent by the Hittite king to the Assyrian, but the identities of the sender and recipient
are still debated. On this debate, see Mora and Giorgieri 2004, 156–157.
23 The most recent edition of the letter is in Mora and Giorgieri 2004, 159–162.
24 The message belongs to Hittite-Assyrian correspondence, but the sender and recipient cannot be
identified with certainty. Cf. Mora and Giorgieri 2004, 184–187.
25 Mora and Giorgieri 2004, 187–190.
26 See Steen 2011, in particular p. 84.
27 Aristotle, Poetics, 1459a, 6–8.
28 Lakoff and Turner 1987, 50.
In particular, according to Lakoff and Turner, the unconventionality of (many) met-

aphors in literature is generated by four different mechanisms facilitating expression of
conceptual metaphors in language: extending, elaborating, questioning and composing. 29
One interesting example of the use of the elaboration mechanism is offered by the
tale of Appu (CTH 360). 30 At the very beginning of the text, we read [… ḫ]an[dand]uš
LÚ.MEŠ-uš kuiš šar[l]iškezzi ḫuwappaš[=a=k]an LÚ.MEŠ-uš GIŠ-ru mān lilakki / “[you
are the one] 31 who exalts the righteous men, who cuts down the evil men like a tree” (CTH
360, Obv. 1 2–3).
In this passage, two conceptual metaphors can be detected: ri hteousness is up
and ruin is a fall. Both metaphors are conventional, but their linguistic expressions
differ substantially. In the first case, in fact, the metaphor is expressed simply by the verb
šarlai-, which means ‘to exalt; praise; let prevail’. 32 The second metaphor is expressed in
more elaborate language. The idea of the defeat of evil men is expressed as a fall, yet the
fall is conceptualized as the consequence of cutting down a tree. According to Haas, the
image of someone cutting down evil men like trees is “ohne literarische Parallele”, but the
motive is attested in the glyptic. 33 It is, therefore, possible to argue that elaboration of the
metaphor ruin is a fall in the tale of Appu suggests that the text might be a literary
work. Since the definition of Hittite literature is still debated, the presence of such met-
aphors hints at a more precise classification of documents that not are not unanimously
considered to be literature. 34
As shown by the example of the tale of Appu, in some cases, conceptual metaphors are
not always easy to identify or explain. In these cases, conceptual metaphor theory might
not be the most suitable theory for understanding metaphorical expressions.
In text CTH 325 35 (the myth of the disappearance and return of the Stormgod), lines
10–11 of Rev. III state DIM-naš kartimmiya[uwanza ZI-ŠU NÍ.TE- ŠU u]riwaran paḫḫur
“the soul and the body of the irate Stormgod (are) burning fire.” 36
In this case, the most suitable theory is the conceptual blending theory developed by
G. Fauconnier and M. Turner, published in The Way We Think. Conceptual Blending and
the Mind’s Hidden Complexities (2002).
According to this theory, a metaphor is not generated by a process of mapping between
two domains, but rather, it involves four different spaces: two input mental spaces, a ge-
29 For an example of the four mechanisms, see Lakoff and Turner 1987, 67–72.
30 Edition: E. Rieken et al. (ed), hethiter.net/: CTH 360.1 (T 2009–08–31, TRde 2009–08–31).
31 According to Haas 2006, 195, the agent is Istanu, while the online edition does not reconstruct the
subject.
32 CHD, Š/2, 273–274.
33 Haas 2006, p. 195.
34 The debate on the concept of literature in relation to the Hittite texts is immense and goes far be-
yond the limits of this contribution. See, recently, Haas 2006, 16–17 with reference to previous
literature.
35 Edition: E. Rieken et al. (ed), hethiter.net/: CTH 325 (T 2012–05–06, TRde 2012–05–06).
36 For a slighty different translation, see Torri 2003, 68.
neric space and a blended space. The mental input spaces are “small conceptual packets”, 37
and in the case of the example from Hittite texts, they are “anger” and “fire”, respectively.
The generic space is connected with both input spaces, since it contains the common
elements of the two input spaces. In the case of CTH 325, Rev. III 10–11, the generic space
contains, for instance, the idea of “heat”, common to both input spaces “anger” and
“fire.” The fourth and final space, the blend, combines the connections among the other
spaces, and the metaphor is generated in this space. In the passage CTH 325, the metaphor
emerging from the blend is an er is fire.
A Well-established Methodology
Conceptual metaphor theory, deliberate metaphor theory and conceptual blending the-
ory do not contradict one another, 38 since they all presuppose that metaphor is first and
foremost a cognitive phenomenon which is subsequently expressed in language.
Since linguistic expression is the starting point for a study of conceptual metaphor in
Hittite texts, it is necessary to process these sources according to a method designed for
this purpose. The following method (metaphor identification procedure) was developed
by the Pragglejaz group in 2007 and consists of three different phases: 39
1. Read the entire textual discourse to establish a general understanding of the meaning.
2. Determine the lexical units in the textual discourse.
3. a. For each lexical unit 40 in the text, establish its meaning in context, that is, how it
applies to an entity, relation or attribute in the situation evoked by the text (contextual
meaning). Take into account what comes before and after the lexical unit.
b. For each lexical unit, determine whether it has a more basic contemporary meaning
in contexts other than the one in question. (Basic meanings tend to be more concrete,
related to bodily action, more precise and historically older, but they are not necessar-
ily the most frequent meanings of the lexical unit.)
c. If the lexical unit has a more basic current-contemporary meaning in contexts other
than the one in question, decide whether the contextual meaning is different from the
basic meaning but can be understood in comparison with it.
4. If yes, mark the lexical unit as metaphorical.
It is clear that some implications of this procedure do not apply to ancient texts. For in-
stance, in the case of our textual corpus, the concepts of “historically older” and “cur-
37 Fauconnier and Turner 2002, 40.

38 On the integration between conceptual metaphor theory and conceptual blending theory, see, in
particular, Mark Turner’s blog http://markturner.org/blendaphor.html.
39 Pragglejaz Group 2007; Semino 2008, 11–12.
40 A lexical unit can be a single word or a more complex phrase. See Semino 2008, 12–13.
rent-contemporary meaning” are not easy to determine. 41 Since the metaphor identi-
fication procedure (as stated by the Pragglejaz Group) 42 may be modified in relation to
different parameters like discourse, genre and the modality of metaphor expression, it is
possible to use a simplified procedure which is more fitting for the needs of a study based
on ancient languages.
The procedure is simplified in phases 3b. and 3c. Notably, in phase 3b., it will be de-
termined whether every lexical unit has a basic concrete and precise meaning in other
texts or contexts. In phase 4c., the correlation between basic and other meanings will be
discussed.
Treaties written in the Hittite language often use the expression M M TU šarra i-,
which is translated as “to break the oath.” Since the verb šarra i- means ‘to divide; to cut
off’, 43 this lexical unit must be processed in order to establish whether it can be considered
metaphorical. The context in the treaties repeatedly refers to some action on the part of
the subordinate king, through which he violates the regulations of the treaty (such as a
lack of military intervention in support of the Hittite king or harboring fugitives). The
decisive question in order to classify the expression as metaphorical is whether the verb
šarra i- has concrete meaning(s). According to the examples referred to in the Chicago
Hittite Dictionary, the verb has a literal meaning. In texts KBo 20.14, Rev. IV 20–-24,
we read NINDA=ya=kan IŠTU È DMāliya pat ANA GIŠBANŠUR ḪI.A= UNU šan È ka-
rimni ḫantx šarranzi “And the bread from the same temple of Maliya they divide up in-
dividually temple by temple for their tables.” 44 Since the meaning cannot be literal in the
unit M M TU šarra i- being analyzed, it follows that the expression is metaphorical. In
particular, we have the metaphor oath is a brea able object.
A New Research Path
To conclude, this contribution aims to show how processing written Hittite sources in
accordance with conceptual metaphor theory, and also (at least in certain cases) deliberate
metaphor theory and conceptual blending theory, can facilitate access to the Hittite sys-
tem of thinking. A systematic study from this perspective can be conducted by analyzing
documents in the search for conceptual metaphors thanks to the metaphor identification
procedure, a rigorous method specifically developed for this kind of search.
The examples referred to in this paper prove that extensive study can achieve several
goals: deepening our general knowledge of specific debated topics, for instance, diplo-
macy and policymaking; better definition of Hittite textual genres (in particular, those
41 It is possible that historically older meanings of lexical units will be found, but this will be the
case for a small minority of exceptions, so it cannot be a general criterion for the identification of
metaphors.
42 Pragglejaz Group 2007, specifically 23.
43 See CHD/Š-2, 230–238.
44 See CHD/Š-2, 232.
documents that can be subsumed under the definition of literature); and finally, improv-
ing our knowledge of the Hittite language and thus also improving our translations by
making them more coherent and precise.
Of course, some challenges have to be faced, such as the fact that Hittite documents
are written in several different languages, some of which remain poorly understood (like
Hurrian and Hattian, for instance). Dating of the texts remains, in several cases, a matter
of debate, thus restricting the possibility of building a picture of changes in metaphors
over the time span of the Hittite archives. Furthermore, documents or genres are them-
selves difficult to interpret, meaning that identification of conceptual metaphors might
also be tricky.
Nonetheless, as a methodological synthesis with examples and previously published
contributions on diplomatic and historiographic documents, 45 this contribution has
shown that this new path of research is worth pursuing. In fact, identification and inter-
pretation of conceptual metaphors in Hittite texts will give us access, for the first time, to
the system of thinking of an ancient culture.
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Cows of Battle, Urinatin Lions,
and Fri htened FalconsĨ
On Metaphor in Sumerian Literary Compositionsġ
Judith Pfitzner (Universität Wien)
Metaphorical expressions, or metaphors appear in abundance in Sumerian literary com-

positions. 1 They are, however, still occasionally described as fanciful, odd, or exotic. 2 In
this essay, the author presents five metaphors taken from Sumerian compositions that, on
the surface, appear to be rather unusual.
Introduction
When working with Sumerian literary compositions from the Old Babylonian period,
the compositions’ richness of metaphors 3 is particularly intriguing. Metaphors, here, are
taken in the broadest sense. They include a variety of nominal forms, which may or may
not be specifically marked as metaphorical, but whose context defines them so. They also
include grammatic forms using the enclitic copula of the third person singular (–am3)
* The present paper stems from research undertaken in the context of the project “Bestiarium Mes-
opotamicum:animal omens in Ancient Mesopotamia.” The project has received funding from the
Austrian Science Fund (FWF des Wissenschaftsfonds; Project no. P 31032). The author would like
to thank Marta Pallavidini and Ludovico Portuese for organizing the workshop “Researching Meta-
phor in the Ancient Near East: Perspectives from Texts and Images” and for the opportunity to pres-
ent her research. Thanks further go to Nicole Lundeen-Kaulfus and to James Watson for correcting
the author’s English, and to Nicla de Zorzi, Jerrold Cooper, and Krisztián Simko for commenting on
an earlier version of this paper. All remaining errors or inconsistencies must be credited to the author.
1 The term “literary composition” is a modern one. For a recent discussion of Sumerian literature, its
nature and boundaries, see, for instance, Rubio 2009, 22–28.
2 The most obvious example for this notion was given by Jaques 2011, 3–4 (with reference to Lands-
berger and Falkenstein) and Jaques 2015, 322–323. Further, although Black does not explicitely state
this, a similar notion can be interpreted from his monograph on Reading Sumerian Poetry (Black
1998, 9–19, especially 10 and 18); see also Black 1996, 23; Feldt 2007, 185, fn. 2.
3 “(…) there is something striking about the use of imagery especially in Sumerian literature” (Feldt
2007, 187–188).
DOI: 10.13173/9783447114370.095
96 Judith Pfitzner
and those using the equative morpheme (–gen7), 4 as well as other constructions. 5 But, it is
important to note that none of these constructions are restricted to a figurative use.
Metaphors, stressing ambiguities as well as similarities, are used in Sumerian literary
compositions, for instance, to create tension, to illustrate situations, 6 and to evoke emo-
tions (such as fear, 7 pride, 8 or pity 9). This qualities make metaphor in Sumerian a reward-
ing subject of research.
Metaphors in other languages, especially in languages no longer spoken, present a num-
ber of interpretative difficulties such as differentiating between figurative and non-figu-
rative language 10 and between dead and live metaphors. 11 Added to this is the problem of
translating metaphors from one language to another. 12 The grammatical peculiarites of
the Sumerian equative morpheme, hamper any work with metaphors in Sumerian literary
compositions: a noun or noun phrase marked by the equative morpheme is not always the
subject or the object of a clause. 13 It may stand in a dimensional case, that as such is not
marked by an additional grammatical morpheme on the noun or noun phrase, but that
4 Usually termed “similes”. In Sumerian, however, similes cannot in all instances be strictly separated
from metaphors for purely grammatical reasons: The enclitic copula third person singular (–am3)
was occasionally used in contexts where one would expect an equative morpheme; the equative
marker (–gen7) sometimes alternates with the enclitic copula (–am3) in parallel phrases; and a few
instances exist where, in figurative contexts, earlier manuscripts of a line include the enclitic copula,
while later manuscripts give the equative morpheme instead. See on this phenomenon (though not
all share the same view of how to deal with it) Heimpel 1968, 33–36; Thomsen 1984, 109, 276; Black
1998, 15–16; Streck 1998, 38–39, fn 16; Veldhuis 2004, 53, fn. 21; Feldt 2007, 188; Attinger 2009,
131; Jagersma 2010, 692; Zulyomi 2017, 116–117.
5 Other constructions that can indicate the figurative use of a noun or noun phrase, are: nouns in
the adverbiative (on this – not undisputed – case, see Attinger 1993, 260 and now Meyer-Laurin
2012, 216, fn. 2); constructions with the modal adverb i-gi4-in-zu (see Wilcke 1968, 238; Black 1995;
Krebernik and Streck 2001, 68; Kaneva 2007; Wilcke 2010, 27); and, in specific cases, negative con-
ditional clauses with nu-me-a (see recently Delnero 2018, 308).
6 See the description of the final clash between Ninurta and Asag in Ninurta’s Exploits, ETCSL
1.6.2, lines 288–297, further the description of Agade’s downfall in Curse on Agade, ETCSL 2.2.1,
lines 77–82. The ETCSL numbers of the respective compositions are given for practical purposes.
7 See the description of the demon Asag in Ninurta’s Exploits, ETCSL 1.6.2, lines 173–175, in terms
of a (collapsing) brick wall, a storm, and a roaring sa kal-snake (on metaphors in this composition
generally, see Feldt 2011).
8 See the words of praise in Ninurta’s Exploits, ETCSL 1.6.2, lines 373–375.
9 See the description of the lamenting goddess in Lament for Urim, ETCSL 2.2.2, lines 102–104, in
terms of a cow whose calf has been taken away.
10 See, for instance, Streck who stressed the importance of differentiating between metaphor and my-
thology (Streck 1999, 52–53). This differentiation is not always easy and, in some cases, impossible
to make.
11 On this distinction, see Black 1998, 57 (reffering to Wellek and Warren 1972), who suggests as fol-
lows: “(…) that images which occur in pairs or clearly defined clusters are more likely to have a vivid,
literary significance than those which occur singly and about which there is some uncertainty.”
12 See, for instance, Samaniego Fern ndez, Velasco Sacrist n and Fuertes Olivera,2005.
13 Though, according to Jagersma 2010, 204, the “compared item” (i.e. the tenor) is in most cases the
subject or object of the clause.
On Metaphor in Sumerian Literary Compositions 97
must be reconstructed 14 to avoid misleading translations. (Example: It makes a semantic

difference, whether kiški gud an-na-gen7 im-ug5 15 is translated as “(Enlil’s frowning) 16 killed
the city Kiš like the Bull of Heaven (would have killed the city)”, “(Enlil’s frowning) killed
Kiš like (it would have killed) the Bull of Heaven”, or rather “(Enlil’s frowning) killed Kiš
as through the Bull of Heaven”). Further, the equative marker occasionally follows the
first noun, while the metaphor comprises the whole phrase. 17 It appears to the author that
these important details were not always considered during translation.
In spite of these difficulties, interest in the study of metaphor in Sumerian composi-
tions has increased over the last 20 years, 18 and, as a result, many formulations are now
better understood. 19 However, still some metaphors continue to defy simple explanation.
These metaphors appear to be misplaced; the set of implications associated with the ve-
hicle do not make sense when applied to the tenor; 20 or, occasionally, the whole phrase as
such appears to be incomprehensible. Some of these metaphors will be presented in the
following section, 21 and alternative interpretations will be proposed. 22 It will be argued
14 Heimpel (1968, 27–28) observed this some 50 years ago and named it a “virtual” dimensional case.
Jagersma’s (2010, 204) grammar brie y mentions this phenomenon as does Sövegj rtu’s (2010, 1000)
discussion of the equative case.
15 Curse on Agade, ETCSL 2.2.1, line 2. See Feldt 2007.
16 sa -ki gid2-da den-lil2-la2-ke 4 (Curse on Agade, ETCSL 2.2.1, line 1).
17 See Heimpel 1968, 36–40, especially 37–38; Wilcke 1976, 210 for examples.
18 While Kramer 1969 gave an overview of metaphors and similes in Sumerian compositions, there are
two important monographs explicitely dealing with the topic: Heimpel 1968 and Black 1998. To
name some more contributions: Wilcke 1976, 210–212; Berlin 1979, 29; Edzard 1987; Lambert 1987;
Wilcke 1987; Black 1996; Sefati 1998; Watanabe 2002; Veldhuis 2004, 52–53; Feldt 2007; Muntingh
2007; Ponchia 2009; Foster 2010; Jaques 2011; Selz 2011: 51–52; Mittermayer 2012; Wilcke 2012b;
Jaques 2015, 191–199 and 322–324; Böck 2014, 115–128; Gabbay 2014, 29–33; Pfitzner 2018; Pfitzner
2019; Selz forthcoming. Approaches that apply the Conceptual Metaphor Theory (CMT) to the
Sumerian material, as, for instance, Böck 2014 did, appear especially interesting to the author.
19 See, for instance, line 258 of Enki and the World Order, ETCSL 1.1.3 (id2idigna am gal-gen7 šag4
im-hul2 u3-tud-ba mu-ni-[…]); Mittermayer 2012, 246 translated the noun phrase in equative “wie
durch einen großen Wildstier war der Tigris erfreut” [italics hers] and Wilcke 2012b “wie durch
einen großen Wildstier beglückt.” The latter translation clarifies the line’s sexual connotations.
20 The terminology used in the present paper is that of Richards 1936, Black 1962, and others, and the
so-called Interaction Theory of Metaphor (for an overview of this theory of metaphor and other
approaches, see Rolf 2005). This theoretical approach describes metaphors primarily as the result
of a semantic tension between the metaphoric expression and its context on the one hand, and be-
tween tenor and vehicle on the other hand. Richards’ terms “tenor” and “vehicle” (Richards 1936,
64; note, however, that Richards himself used these terms inconsistently, as criticized, for instance,
by Black 1983, 77–78, fn 23; see Kittay 1987, 22–23) are preferred by the present author over Black’s
“principal subject” and “subsidiary subject” (Black 1983, 75–76; later he changed these designations
to “primary subject” and “secondary subject”, see Black 1983a, 392) merely out of practical consid-
erations: they are simpler to differentiate.
21 The case studies were taken from the author’s forthcoming dissertation on metaphor (in the broad-
est sense, see above) in Sumerian narratives (Pfitzner forthcoming).
22 It goes without saying that a certain degree of speculation is unavoidable in the interpretation of
Sumerian metaphors.
98 Judith Pfitzner
that in some cases, translations of Sumerian metaphors appearing odd were not caused by
the fact that Sumerian metaphors are as such difficult to understand or to translate, but
by other, more prosaic reasons.
Case Studies
The Frightened Falcon: Misleading Interpretation of Signs (Modern)
The transliteration of line 36 of the composition Dumuzid and eštinana, ETCSL 1.4.1.1,
describing Dumuzid trying to escape from the demons who want to take him to the neth-
erworld, has long troubled Assyriologists:
d
dumu-zid-de3 mušen-še3 sur2-du3mušen dal-a-gen7 zi-ni ur5-da i3-šub-ba
Falkenstein 23 first proposed this transliteration in 1965 and most scholars adopted it; 24 here
are some of the translations:
– Falkenstein: “Dumuzi …te seine ‘Seele’, wie ein (schnell) iegender Falke auf einen
(kleinen) Vogel (stösst).” 25
– Heimpel: “Dumuzid (…), als er wie ein nach einem Vogel au iegender Falke sein ‘Leb-
en’, das aus dem Koerper gefallen war, gepackt hatte.” 26
– Sladek: “Dumuzi, as a bird, like the soaring falcon that can swoop down alive.” 27
– Römer – Edzard: “Dumuzi brachte wie (vor) einem auf einen Vogel (stoßenden schnell)
iegenden Falken sein Leben, das, was (fast) aus den Lungen gefallen war.” 28
– Black: “Dumuzi, like a ying falcon after a bird, attentively swooping.” 29
– ETCSL: (Dumuzid,) “like a soaring falcon that can swoop down on a live (?) bird.” 30
Most scholars understood sur2-du3mušen ‘falcon’ as somehow ying after a bird (mušen-še3),
and as the vehicle (i.e. the expression used metaphorically) for Dumuzid, with a specific
speed being the tertium comparationis. However, the translations appear unsatisfactory;
the terms mušen-še3 and sur2-du3mušen dal-a-gen7 appear to be in the wrong order; and the
description of the scared, eeing Dumuzid with the vehicle sur2-du3mušen ‘falcon’ is at odds
23 Falkenstein 1965, 281.

24 Except for Gadd and Kramer 1963, 3 (description of the tablet) and Jacobsen 1987, 228. Note, how-
ever, Kramer’s paraphrase of the line in question a few years later: “the soul ies from Dumuzi’s
body, ‘like a falcon ying against a(nother) bird’” (Kramer 1969, 7).
25 Falkenstein 1965, 281.
26 Heimpel 1968, 422–423.
27 Sladek 1974, 233.
28 Römer and Edzard 1993, 490.
29 Black 1996, 31.
30 ETCSL (download: 21.01.2020).
with the context of the scene as well as with the common usage of the term sur2-du3mušen, a
bird of prey and a hunter (used, for instance, as vehicle for Inana 31). 32
The author suggests that the incorrect reading of one sign lies at the core of these un-
certainties: 33 the sign following mušen is not ŠE3, but the quite similar sign ŠU, meaning
‘hand; talon’. 34 With the new reading the metaphor becomes clear: on the one hand, there
is the (strong, dangerous) bird of prey, the hunter sur2-du3mušen, on the other hand, there is
the (weak, scared) bird, the refugee, the hunted Dumuzid. The author therefore translates
this passage as:
35. muš-sa -kal-gen7 šag4-tum2 ur-sa - a2 mu-ni-in-bal-bal

36. ddumu-zid-de3 mušen šu sur2-du3mušen dal-a-gen7 zi-ni ur5-da i3-šub-ba
37. ki d eštin-an-na-še3 zi-ni ba-ši-in-de6
Like a sa kal-snake, (which is) winding in meadows and hills, 35
did Dumuzid – like a bird that fled (literally: flew) (from) a falcon’s talons – to
save his life in this way (?),
rescue himself (literally: bring his life) to the place of eštinana.
The Cow of Battle: Misleading Translation (Ancient) 36
In the manuscript K. 38 of Ninurta’s Return to Nibru, ETCSL 1.6.1, in the context of
Ninurta enumerating and boasting about his weapons, an apparently unique metaphor-
ical expression is used: 37
31 See Black 1996, 32; Pfitzner 2017.

32 A falcon is, rarely, described as being hunted, see, for instance, line 73 of Enmerkara and Ensuku-
kešdana, ETCSL 1.8.2.4: Enmerkara is described there as follows: sur2-[du3]mušen an-na dal-e-da-bi gu
mušen-na-bi-[im] “when the falcons y on the sky, he is their bird net” (transliteration following Wil-
cke 2012a). This statement underlines Enmerkara’s power: He is so powerful that he even catches fal-
cons ying in the sky; he is dangerous even for these birds (conventionally the hunters par excellence).
33 Pfitzner 2017. On this line, see also Attinger 2017. However, the metaphor is clear.
34 Collated from photograph. The author cordially thanks Anna Pintér (who is currently preparing a
new edition of the composition Dumuzid and eštinana) for sending photos of the respective man-
uscripts (e-mail from 04.04.2019). Ludwig (2009, 27) also correctly identified the sign, remarking on
the respective sign “Š ! wie ŠU”.
35 While it is in this case theoretically possible to understand šag4-tum2 ur-sa - a2 mu-ni-in-bal-bal
as separate from the metaphor and therefore not the vehicle muš-sa -kal, but the tenor Dumuzid
being the one who winds in meadows and hills, the author sees no possibility to translate the parallel
lines 31–32 (Dumuzid’s prayer to Utu) this way. On the phenomenon in Sumerian that the equative
marker follows the first noun, while the metaphor comprises the whole phrase, see already Heimpel
1968, 36–40.
36 Admittedly, this case study does not fully correspond to the others, as it is taken from a late (neo-As-
syrian) manuscript. As it is, however, illustrative of what could go wrong even in antiquity, it has
been nevertheless included.
37 Cooper 1978, 78 (see also ibid., 40–46, where he collected it together with other “errors” or lexical
variants in the transmission of the composition); Attinger and Glenn 2017, 32–33. The Old Baby-
100 Judith Pfitzner
136. šilam me3-a ki-bal-a saal- ab-ba- u10 mu- e-da- al2-la-am3> 38
lit-ti ta-ḫa-zi al-lu-ḫap-pu KUR nu-kur2-tim MIN
Sum.: The ‘cow of battle’ of/in the rebellious land, my alluḫappu-net, I carry
with me .
Akk.: The ‘cow of battle’, the alluḫappu-net of the rebellious land, ditto.
The term šilam me3-a ‘cow of battle’ 39 is semantically difficult, as Sumerian literary com-
positions didn‘t usually describe female bovines as being aggressive or dangerous. 40 Cows
were rather associated with love, empathy, and maternal feelings. 41 It is therefore implau-
sible that Ninurta’s weapon was described by the vehicle “cow of battle.”
As Black already suggested, it appears that the reason for this unexpected metaphor is
in the lexicon. 42 There is a battle net testified lexically, 43 whose Akkadian translation littû
is nearly a homophone with the Akkadian term littu ‘cow’. 44 Most likely, an antique con-
ation of littu and littû occurred. Perhaps some broken or damaged manuscripts created
problems, and a scribe, not aware of the battle-net littû, took lit-ti as the more common
lonian recension gives saal-kad 4, the Middle Babylonian recension saal- ub2; in the late (bilingual)
recension, this line is only extant in one manuscript (K 4852, the other manuscript given by Cooper
1978 for this line, contains the end of the line). The Sumerian in this line generally appears corrupt
after the Old Babylonian period (see Cooper 1978, 125). The line in question was collated from the
CDLI photo (P393724) of the manuscript K. 38 (obv., line 17’).
38 The full verbal form is reconstructed from line 131 of manuscript e (K. 38). It is further, with slight
variation, given in line 136 of the Old Babylonian recension.
39 Cooper 1978, 79.
40 Except for the female wild cow sumun2. See, for instance, Lament for Unug, ETCSL 2.2.5, line
5.17–5.18 (edition: Green 1984; manuscript: N 1399, copy loc. cit., 264, collated from the photo on
CDLI, P276544), where it is possibly described (parallel to am ‘wild bull’) as game animal (although
the reconstruction of the sign as sumun2 is uncertain): am gal-gen7 ti mu-ni-in-gid2-gid2-i-e[š? …] /
sumun2?-gen7 iššukur mi-ni-in-te-te ˹x˺ (x possibly e26? see manuscript S in Green 1984, 264) […]
“Like to a big wild bull, they (?) caused arrows to approach it (= the city) […] like to a big wild cow?,
they (?) caused lances to come close to it (= the city) […].”
Another example of sumun2 as a vehicle is given in Enmerkara and the Lord of Arata, ETCSL
1.8.2.3, l. 297, describing the speed of the messenger or a specific way of moving: sumun2-gen7 haš2-a
na-mu-un-gur “he turned around on the tights like a wild cow” (on the interpretation of NA as
belonging to mu-un-gur rather than to aš-a because of the verbal form na?-mu-un-DU in line 298,
see Mittermayer 2008, 259). In Akkadian contexts, the wild cow (rxmtu) is more often described as
dangerous (for examples, see CAD s.v. rxmtu).
41 Pfitzner 2019, 149–150.
42 Black 1980, 158.
43 Ura VI, line 183b (Landsberger 1958: 69); Ur5 – gud I, recension A, line 88 (Landsberger 1958, 76).
For further attestations, see CAD s.v. littû. Landsberger derived the term littû from the Sumerian
lam (or *lem)-du3. Its lexical equivalent is saella -du3 (loc. cit.: 69; collated from the photo in the Brit-
ish Museum database, K. 4161+). Admittedly, it remains difficult to explain why none of Ninurta’s
Return to Nibru’s monolingual manuscripts include the lexeme saella -du3 in line 136.
44 Black 1980, 158.
term littu ‘cow’. This would eventually laed to the ancient restoration and re-translation 45
of šilam. It may have also been the cause of the addition of me3-a/ta-ḫa-zi, to make the
term appear less out of place in this context.
r ri i i r i r
In this case study, the author will discuss a passage from the composition Lugalbanda I,
ETCSL 1.8.2.1, lines 318–323. 46 Lugalbanda, who is lost in the wilderness, lays down to
sleep, aiming for an ominous dream. Sleep is described as follows: 47
318. lugal-ra u3-sa2-ge sa2 nam-ga-mu-ni-ib-dug4

319. u3-sa2-ge kur nam-gu2-ga-ke4
320. ku-kur sukud 48 dim2-ma 49 šu e2- ar8-gen7 gul-la
321. šu-bi sukud-am3 iri3-bi sukud-am3
322. ni 2 igi-bi-ta lal3 šu2-šu2-e
323. igi-bi-ta lal3 dirig-dirig-ga-e
45 On the re-translation of Akkadian into Sumerian in the composition Ninurta’s Exploits, see Semi-
nara 2001.
46 The author already discussed the structure and contents of lines 318–323 of Lugalbanda I in
Pfitzner 2018. Discussion here supplements and partially modifies the arguments there.
47 Note the intertextual link between line 319 and the composition Gilgameš and Ḫuwawa B, ETCSL
1.8.1.5.1, line 11, where kur nam-gu2-ga is used as an epithet for the grave or the Netherworld, or
both (see Edzard 1993, 17: “Daß das Grab, der ‘Berg’, der Gewalt ausübt, niemanden verschonen
wird”). The term is a possible euphemism for death (Civil 2013, 38) On sleep in Mesopotamia, see
Steinert 2010.
48 The sign is in this line (and in the following line) usually read galam. However, the reading sukud is
a better semantic fit. It also re ects other occurrences of this sign in combination with the verb dim2,
where a reading sukud is obligatory; e.g., Gilgameš and Ḫuwawa A, ETCSL 1.8.1.5, line 157 (trans-
literation in Delnero 2006, 2465; line 170 in ETCSL): sukud-ra2 dim2-ma nu-tuku; Letter from
Inim-Enlila to a King, ETCSL 3.3.27, A line 3: alan sukud-da dim2-ma ad gi4-gi4 in-tuku (transliter-
ation taken from ETCSL).
49 Against ETCSL and Pfitzner 2018, Hallo’s drawing clearly gives the sign sequence GALAM GIM
MA (see Hallo 1983, 169). Hallo 1983, 173 interpreted this sign sequence as galam-gim-ma, while
ETCSL assumed that the sequence of GIM and MA should be transposed to read galam-ma-gen7.
However, there is reason to read sukud instead of galam, the latter solution can thus be excluded.
The interpretation chosen here was to read the sign GIM as dim2. This interpretation also fits best
the overall structur of line 320 (both containing an infinite verbal form with /-a/).
102 Judith Pfitzner
So far, the following translations have been suggested for line 320:
– Vanstiphout: “it is a towering ood, like the hand that demolishes a brick wall.” 50
– Wilcke: “eine sich kunstvoll auftürmende Welle, die den Verstand umgeworfen hat wie
eine Hand eine Mauer.” 51
– ETCSL: “it is like a towering ood, like a hand demolishing a brick wall.” 52
– Hallo: “it is like an extensive ood, a hand destroyed like a brick wall.” 53
– Black: “it is like a towering ood, a hand like a brick wall knocked over.” 54
– Vanstiphout: “it is a raging ood which sweeps over the body as a wall washed away
(by water).” 55
In these translations, either a “hand that has destroyed a brick wall” or a “brick wall that
has been destroyed” were taken as vehicles. Both interpretations are problematic:
The equative marker either follows the noun or noun phrase that it refers to; or, occa-
sionally, it follows the first noun of a noun phrase (although it may semantically refer to
the whole phrase). 56 Neither is the case when interpreting šu e2- ar8-gen7 gul-la as “like a
hand that has destroyed a brick wall”; for this, one would expect either ¬ šu e2- ar8 gul-la-
gen7 or ¬ šu-gen7 e2- ar8 gul-la.
The translation of šu e2- ar8-gen7 gul-la with “a hand that has been destroyed like a
brick wall” is grammatically possible, but semantically difficult: why should sleep be or
have a destroyed hand?
A possible solution lies in the interpretation of the destruction. In other words: should
šu e2- ar8-gen7 gul-la be interpreted as “a hand that destroyed something like a brick wall
has been destroyed” or as “a hand that destroyed something like a brick wall has destroyed
something”?
The latter interpretation which sees the brick wall as the destructive entity 57 is con-
firmed by a similar metaphor in Ninurta’s Exploits, ETCSL 1.6.2, line 173 (context: battle
between Ninurta and Asag): 58
a2-sag3 dnin-urta dumu den-lil2-la2-še3 e2- ar8-gen7 mu-un-ši-gul-lu
50 Vanstiphout 2003, 123.

51 Wilcke 2015, 242.
52 Download: 21/01/2020.
53 Hallo 1983, 176.
54 Black 1998, 182.
55 Vanstiphout 1998, 400.
56 Heimpel 1968, 37–38; Sövegj rtu 2010, 101–201.
57 The use of the vehicle “brick wall” as the destructive entity undoubtedly creates a certain ambigui-
ty, as a brick wall destroys by being destroyed itself.
58 Transcription following van Dijk 1983, 73 (manuscript A1 and, slightly different, A).
Asag collapses onto Ninurta, the son of Enlil, crushing him like a (collapsing) brick wall
(literally: Asag destroys onto Ninurta, the son of Enlil, like a brick wall). 59
The translation I suggested for the Lugalbanda passage is therefore: 60
(And finally,) sleep overcame the king.

Sleep – the land of submission;
a wave that has towered up; a hand that has crushed (literally: destroyed) like a
(collapsing) brick wall;
its hand is towering, its foot is towering;
something that covers (the sleeping person) from its frontside with syrup, 61
(something) that covers (the sleeping person) from its frontside with syrup.
r ri i r ii 62
The Lugalbanda passage discussed in the previous paragraph display some interesting
sign plays, sound plays, and patterns of repetition:
318. lugal-ra u3-sa2-ge sa2 nam-ga-mu-ni-ib-dug4

319. u3-sa2-ge kur nam-gu2-ga-ke4
320. ku-kur sukud dim2-ma šu e2- ar8-gen7 gul-la
59 Another, slightly different parallel for this image is given in Udug-Ḫul 8, line 3: a-la2 ul e2- ar8 diri-
ga-gen7 lu2-ra in-gu[l]-u8-a he2-me-en MIN ša2 ki-ma i-ga-ri i-qup-pu-ma UGU L[U2 in-n]a-ba-tu at-
ta5 “whether you are the evil Alû-demon who is like a wall that caves in and collapses upon the man”
(Transcription and translation follow Geller 2015, 288). The author wonders whether the usage of
diri in Lugalbanda I, ETCLS 1.8.2.1, line 323, and in Udug-Ḫul 8, line 3, is a coincidence or should
be considered an intertextual link.
60 Note that the vehicles in the lines 318–324 describe sleep as active external power, something no-
body can resist and everyone must surrender to (Guinan 2009, 196).
61 The description of sleep in terms of a uid has its parallels in ancient Greek texts, see Steinert 2010,
242, fn. 24; Guinan 2009.
62 Sumerian literary compositions are replete with sign plays, sound plays, and patterns of repetition.
The following examples may suffice: in some instances, the scribe obviously plays with the individu-
al components of a compound, for instance, by repeating them several times with different readings.
Examples: UD-gen7 zalag (= UD) mu-un-e3 (= UD.DU) (…) (Ninurta’s Exploits, ETCSL 1.6.1, line
145); dungu (= IM.SI.A) dirig(= SI.A)-ga (Enki and the World Order, ETCSL 1.1.3, line 309); zag
piri -e muš-e-eš eme (= KAxME) e3-de3 kurku2 (KA.AN.NI.SI) KA si-il-le (Ninurta’s Exploits,
ETCSL 1.6.2, line 11). In other instances, the choice of the cuneiform signs adds meaning (on the
sign level). Examples: e-šen for ešemen in a martial context (Inana and Ebi , ETCSL 1.3.2, line 38);
lu2-kur for lu2-kur2 (The lament for Sumer and Urim, ETCSL 2.2.3, line 278); Elsewhere, the read-
ing of a Sumerian term evokes associations to other terms. Example: Play between a-ma-ru ‘ ood’
and /emarru/ ‘quiver’ in Ninurta’s return to Nibru, ETCSL 1.6.1, line 141–142. For the connection
of subsequent lines by partially highly elaborate parallel structures, one example is given in this
paper. Another example: Lugalbanda II, ETCSL 1.8.2.2, lines 143–147.
104 Judith Pfitzner
321. šu-bi sukud-am3 iri3-bi sukud-am3

322. ni 2 igi-bi-ta lal3 šu2-šu2-e
323. igi-bi-ta lal3 dirig-dirig-ga-e
– In line 318, the sign DI (= sa2) is repeatedly used: as component of the term u3-sa2-ge and
as part of sa2 … dug4. Note further, that di is the infinite stem of dug4, the latter likewise
used in line 318. 63
– U3-sa2-ge from line 318 is repeated in line 319, likewise nam and ga.
– Kur from line 319 is repeated in line 320.
– Sukud from line 320 is repeated twice in line 321; šu is repeated once.
– Šu ‘hand’ in line 321 attracted iri3 ‘foot’.
– Either šu from line 321 attracted the (partial) homophone šu2.š in line 322; 64 or, more
likely, the contextually appropriate šu2.š attracted the partially homophonic but con-
textually odd term šu.
– Finally, the term igi-bi-ta lal3 from line 322 is repeated in line 323.
Structures and repetition patterns are created through not only the repetition of whole
terms and phrases, but also of individual signs. Beyond that, there is word play at use,
further associations between terms that were thought to belong together, with (partial)
homophones, and with grammatical forms of a Sumerian term.
ri rri i i r i r
The next example stems from the composition Enki and the World Order, ETCSL 1.1.3,
line 336. 65 Enki’s installation of the god Kulla is described. This line reads as follows:
336. išal zu2 sig9-ga-ni muš ad6 gu7 ni 2 šu [ al2]

That one (= dkulla), whose fixed ‘hoe-tooth’ is (like the tooth of) a muš ad6 gu7, … 66
The vehicle in this line, muš ad6 gu7, was translated into German as “Aas fressende
Schlange” (“carrion devouring snake”), a vehicle considered “recht merkwürdig” by
63 In this case, it is difficult to decide whether the repetition of DI should be considered ludic writing
or rather a consequence of Sumerian polyphony.
64 Possibly the idiomatic expression šu … šu2 ‘to clasp, to clamp down’ (Flückiger-Hawker 1999, 222,
353; Ceccarelli 2016, 45–46) also played a role.
65 Edition: Benito 1969. He does not comment further on the line discussed here.
66 Römer 1993, 409 hesitantly translated ni -šu- al2: “das, was dabei zur Verfügung steht.” Similar
Sjöberg on ni -šu- al2 in other context: “valuables, goods, (movable) property” (Sjöberg 1975, 191,
233).
Heimpel. 67 Pientka-Hinz adopted this interpretation in her article on “Schlangen” in the

RlA and translated muš ad6 gu7 as “Leichen fressende Schlange”, adding that only a few
snake species eat carrion (“Aas”, i.e. decaying meat), and those only in rare instances. 68
The present author suggests modern misunderstanding leads to this oddity. In German,
“Aas” denotes the already decaying meat of a dead (non-human) animal. 69 In this aspect,
it differs from the Sumerian /ad/, 70 for which decaying does not have to have (noticea-
bly) started: Sumerian /ad/ denotes a corpse, a dead body, nonwithstanding its condition
(whether already decaying or still fresh); 71 possibly even the corpse of an animal (or hu-
man) the snake has just killed (by its venomous bite).
Further questions arise from the description of the snake as ad6 gu7 “devouring a (hu-
man) corpse.” Certainly, none of the existing snake species in Mesopotamia are large
enough to devour a human corpse (although pictural representations of this situation
are known from Mesopotamia and from Iran). 72 Thus, either the danger of the snake was
exaggerated; or the vehicle muš ad6 gu7 was formed in analogy to more commonly attested
vehicles such as ur ad6 gu7 “dog devouring corpses”, 73 ušumgal ad6 gu7 “dragon devouring
corpses”, 74 or te8mušen ad6 gu7 “te8-bird (= vulture?) devouring corpses.” 75
Further, the act attributed to the vehicle – the devouring of (human) corpses – can
be explained by the tenor, the hoe; the latter is described in the Song of the Hoe, ETCSL
5.5.4, line 74–75, as burying persons, but also bringing them out of the earth again; 76 as
tertium comparationis between the blade of the hoe and the fangs of a snake devouring
67 Heimpel 1968, 498.

68 Pientka-Hinz 2009, 205 on muš-ad6-gu7.
69 The DUDEN Online Dictionary gives the following definitions for “Aas”: “1a. [verwesende]
Tierleiche, Kadaver; 1b. Fleisch verendeter Tiere; 2a. durchtriebener, gemeiner, niederträchtiger
Mensch” (download: 21/01/2020).
70 Although corpses of human beings (ad6 = LU2×BAD) and of non-human animals (ad3 = UDU-
×BAD, ad x = GU4×BAD) were distinguished at least on the graphical level, these boundaries were
not always strictly upheld (see PSD A/III s.v. ad6; Englund 2003, 5; Attinger 2005, 264 for referenc-
es). This is not unlike German “Leiche” (“human or non-human dead body”), which is frequently
used for human remains instead of “Leichnam” (“human dead body”). On the terms ad3 = UDU-
×BAD and ad x = GU4 BAD, see Streck 2000: 265–266).
71 See the expression [ENEMY] ad6-e-eš … ak “to make [ENEMY] a corpse”, e.g. Ninurta’s Return to
Nibru, ETCSL 1.6.1, line 46 and 47 (Cooper 1978: 62; cf. the different translation by Attinger and
Glenn 2017, 64, who take ad6-e-eš as figurative expression: “(…) traita la montagne comme si elle était
un cadaver”); Forerunner to Udug-Ḫul, line 184 (Geller 1985, 184): (…) lu2-a ad6 in-AK-e. On the
terms /adda/‘cadaver’ and its orthographies, see Streck 2000, 265–266 (on ad3 = UDU BAD and
adx = GU4 BAD), and Veldhuis 2008, 224–226.
72 See von der Osten-Sacken 2009, 220; Kahler 2015, 21–22, 111 (figure 33).
73 Lugalbanda I, ETCSL 1.8.2.1, line 57; Inana B, ETCSL 4.07.2, line 127.
74 Ninurta’s Return to Nibru, ETCSL 1.6.2, line 133.
75 Ḫendursa a A, ETCSL 4.06.1, Seg. A 81. On te8mušen, see the recent contribution by Verderame
(2017, 404–405).
76 Song of the Hoe, ETCSL 5.5.4, line 74–75 (transliteration following ETCSL):
irigal-am3 išal sa ki-a tum2-ma
106 Judith Pfitzner
(human) corpses, one can therefore give (apart from the similarity in form 77) the idea of
removing completely from sight.
The vehicle “snake devouring corpses” serves therefore as a good example of the com-
plexity of some Sumerian metaphors. 78
The Urinating Lion: Scribal Creativity?
The last case study is taken from the composition Sargon and Ur-Zababa, ETCSL 2.1.4.
The composition presents Ur-Zababa, the king of Kiš, in a negative light. The king is
scared by an ominous dream of his cup-bearer (and future successor) Sargon. Ur-Zababa’s
emotional state is described as follows:
B 8. ud 5-am3 ud 10-am3 ba-zal-la-ta

B 9. lugal dur-dza-ba 4-ba 4 im-da-la2 ki-tuš-bi-ta mi-ni-ib- u-lu
B 10. piri -gen7 šag4 pap-hal-la-na kaš3 i3?!-BIZ.BIZ 79 šag4-ba uš2 lugud si-a-ba
B 11. i3-kuš2 ku6 a mun lug-ga-gen7 zi mu-un-di-ni-ib-ir-ir 80
After five days, ten days had passed,
King Ur-Zababa was alert (?). 81 From his residence, something scared him.
Like a lion, he sprinkled urine onto the inner sides of his thighs. As within this (=
the urine) 82 blood and pus were accumulated,
ad x(BAD.LU2) išal-e ki-ta tum2-ma-am3

“Concerning the grave: the hoe has buried persons
(but) corpses brings the hoe out of the earth (again).”
77 A venomous snake, ready to strike, has fangs, reminiscent of the ‘tooth’ (= blade) of a hoe.
78 Further, bronze works from Iran (Lurestan and Kermanshāh), whose handles have the form of an
animal head and are, so to speak, spitting out the blade, are worth mentioning. The publisher of
these bronze works connected these works with metaphors like the one discussed here. (Calmeyer
1969, 160; Wilcke 1987, 80–81). The handles have various forms such as lion and bird heads (e.g.
Calmeyer 1969, 42, fig. 43; ibid. 131, fig. 136) as well as other unidentifiably and mythical animal
heads (ibid. 71, fig. 71, identity of the animal is not clear; ibid. 69, fn. 239, table 4,4 and 4,5, sphinx-
es). On the “tooth” of the hoe, see further Wilcke 1987, in particular 80–82.
79 Following Attinger 2010–2019, 3, fn. 21.
80 Akkadian gloss: a-ne-eḫ-ma šu ki-ma nu-un as-li “he was tired, gasping for breath (?) like a fish”
(Cooper – Heimpel 1983, 75). The vehicle in the gloss possibly describes a fish on dry land, slowly
suffocating, gasping for breath, to whom the anxious, hyperventilating king is likened.
81 La2 is used elliptically for igi … la2 ‘to be alert’ (see B 45). On ellipsis in Sumerian, see Foxvog 2014.
82 The soiled thighs in B 10 must be Ur-Zababa’s (human possessive suffix), while šag4-ba uš2 lugud
si-a-ba refers to a non-human noun; either to the urine (as was assumed here) or the lion.
he was exhausted. Like a fish in brackish water, 83 he was worried because of him
(= Sargon) (?). 84
The description of the thighs, sprinkled with urine, ridicules Ur-Zababa, who is so sick
with fear that he even soils himself. The image of the urinating lion may be taken from
lions marking their territory with feces and urine; 85 this (derogatory) use of the vehicle
piri , however, is highly unusual, because the vehicle “lion” in Sumerian usually empha-
sizes a person’s strength and power, and is frequently used for the king. 86 Assuming Ur-Za-
baba is the tenor, this metaphor should be considered an instance of a so-called creative
metaphor, 87 a new, surprising deviation from the norms of language. 88
It is also possible that Ur-Zababa is not the tenor. In this case, a dimensional case mark-
er that was not written because of the equative marker (Sumerian does not use double case
markings) 89 has to be reconstructed in the translation:
“like before/next to (?) a lion (i.e. as if he = Ur Zababa stood before/next a lion), he

(= Ur-Zababa) sprinkled urine onto the inner sides of his thighs.”
83 The picture outlined here is possibly of fish in shallow ponds, trapped during the periods of hot
weather and low water level. As the water evaporates, the pond water becomes saltier and warmer,
finally killing the fish in large numbers, as described by Westphal-Hellbusch and Westphal 1962, 26.
84 Attinger 2010–2019, 3: “Il est épuisé, tel un poisson vivant (dans) l’eau salée, il es angoissé à cause de
lui.”
85 On predators urinating to mark their territories, see Peterson 2007, 432, fn. 171, who suggested this
interpretation for Lugal-e 172 (a da-bi-a mu-un-sur-sur-re; with da referring to the boundaries of the
animal’s territories), and who referred in this context to N 3400 + N 3401, rev. 3‘–4‘: [....] x piri gal
ka du8-a, [... ul]- al2-la a ba-da-an-sur-sur-ra […] “… the great lion with open mouth [… the ev]il one
urinated […].”
86 On the metaphor lion = king, see Watanabe 2002, 42–56 and passim.
87 Note that the vehicle in the subsequent line, the fish, is also used elsewhere to describe a desperate
situation, although with other words (see, for instance, Lugalbanda II, ETCSL 1.8.2.2, line 146: ku6
urud
dur10 ra; The Death of Gilgameš, Meturan Seg. A 16: ku6 NUN, and Nippur Seg. A 18: ku6 NUN
[X X] ku6 keše2 ak-a; The Lament for Sumer and Ur, ETCSL 2.2.3, line 301: ku6 šu dab5-ba, and line
407a: ku6 a-ni in2-na lug-ga). Possibly, this more or less “conventional” vehicle was intentionally
used by the scribe to emphasize his creativity one line before, deliberately attempting to reinforce
the unusual character of the vehicle just used.
88 Creative (or: poetic, see Nöth 1990, 130) metaphors are new, surprising deviations from the norms
of language (Nöth 1990, 131), in opposition to “conventional metaphors”, that are well known, ste-
reotypical, clichéed.
89 Heimpel 1968, 27–28; Jagersma 2010, 203–204; Sövegj rtu 2010, 100.
108 Judith Pfitzner
Conclusions
The presented case studies expose the importance of not only correctly translating met-
aphorical language, but also of closely examining their context of used and their seman-
tics, and of considering similar phrases, as well as the use of particular signs. Although
Sumerian metaphors have some aspects that may appear unexpected to us who live thou-
sands of years later (without native speakers to refer to), 90 they can in numerous cases be
understood within the context of ancient people’s lives and environment. For metaphors
not appearing comprehensible within this framework, other explanations must at least be
taken into account: ancient or modern misreadings or misunderstandings, sign plays, or
word plays, 91 but also the creative use of a common vehicle.
The examples discussed in this paper:
– the “ ying falcon” that turned out to be a “bird ying/ eeing from a falcon’s talons”;
– the “cow of battle” that possibly was caused by the misunderstanding and subsequent
re-interpretation of a term meaning a battle net;
– the sleep, whose relationship to the brick wall was at first not fully clear, but was shown
to be like a brick wall destructive, allowing interesting observations at the sign level;
– the “snake devouring carrion”, which wasn’t a weird species of snake feeding on de-
cayed meat (German “Aas”), but a snake devouring corpses (that it had produced itself
by its venomous bite?), a vehicle serving as an illustrative example for the complexity
of Sumerian metaphors;
– and, finally, the “urinating lion”, which was either used as a creative vehicle to describe
the anxious king Ur-Zababa (who is not the strong lion he ought to be, just a ridiculous
urinating lion), or which should be translated in a totally different way, namely, as
Ur-Zababa soiling himself as if he stood in front of/next to … a lion (= Sargon?),
– have hopefully served as examples of how at-first-incomprehensible metaphors finally
can be comprehended – and of what still is left to be discovered.
90 See Black 1998, 10: “Of course Sumerian is an alien civilisation, separated from us in time virtually
as far as it is possible to go, and part of the strangeness of its metaphorical language is simple unfa-
miliarity with the literary codes as well as with the material culture.”
91 For this phenomenon that could not be included into this essay, some examples shall suffice: Lugal-
banda II, ETCSL 1.8.2.2, lines 100 and 102: use of igi-tab in the sense of ‘blinkers’ in line 100, and
in the sense of igi … tab in line 102; Lugalbanda II, ETCSL 1.8.2.2, line 256–258: multiple use of the
element/sign IM with different meanings (note that this instance could also be counted as a playful
writing on sign level). An especially interesting, but uncertain example is Enmerkara and the Lord
of Arata, ETCSL 1.8.2.3, line 453, where the term na4gug (ZA.GUL) lul was possibly motivated by
the consonance of GUL and LUL. If this interpretation is correct, this phrase serves as example for
the blending of a play at the sign level and a play at the word level.
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Live and Let Live Ima esĨ
Metaphor and Interpictoriality
in Neo-Assyrian Art
Ludovico Portuese (Freie Universität Berlin)
Theoretical Premises: Interpictoriality, Metaphor, and Image Metaphor
With this paper I examine a group of reliefs of Ashurbanipal (668–631 BCE) from the
Southwest and North Palace at Nineveh. This king, as a known antiquarian, consciously
adopted different antique iconographic motifs from his predecessors that had fallen out
of use. In particular, three case studies are presented: the bird of prey of the battlefield;
the lotus ower held by the king; the lion hunt. The analysis is carried out through three
different methodological approaches.
The first approach relies on the concept of interpictoriality (other terms are inter-
iconicity, intervisuality, intertextuality of images), which refers to the process of an image
referring to another image. In the past, a variety of terminologies has been used to de-
scribe the relation of one work of art to another: imitation, plagiarism, copy, variation,
paraphrase, reception, quotation, inversion, allusion, homage, irony, parody or theft.
These terms somehow imply a degree of prejudice and denigration of the resulting prod-
uct. More recently, the term interpictoriality (in German Interpikturalität or Interbildli-
chkeit) has been proposed as an overall term that should capture all the above-mentioned
relationships without a moral judgement. This concept is widely thought of as analogous
to the concept of literary intertextuality and argues that many works of art, as much as lit-
erary or non-literary written or spoken verbal texts, contain explicit or implicit references
to other works of art or images. 1 Using the words of Von Rosen, interpictoriality examines
the “Relationen zwischen Bildern sowie die Modi ihrer Transformation von Einem in ein
Anderes”, with the consequence that cases of interpictoriality spark a kind of déjà-vu ef-
fect in the viewer, that is to say a feeling of familiarity, of having already seen that image. 2
This method tries to understand how exactly one image refers to another and/or whether
1 Gamer 2013, 115–116.

2 “[T]he relationships between images as well as the modi of their transformation from one into
another”, Von Rosen 2011, 208; English translation in Gamer 2013, 116. See also Chéroux 2010,
56–85.
DOI: 10.13173/9783447114370.115
116 Ludovico Portuese
this transfer is based on conscious or unconscious decisions by the artist/patron. 3 Inter-

pictoriality is thereby not so much interested in identifying references per se, but is more
interested in the reasons that lie behind these references. Accordingly, aside the questions
where from and what, interpictoriality asks also why and how images are re-used.
Art history and modern photography show that the phenomenon of interpictoriality
is found in every epoch and visual culture. For example, Dimitri Laboury has deployed
the concept of interpictoriality to cast off modern biases against copying and imitation in
Egyptian art, and redefines ancient Egyptian art as productive tradition where creativity
and originality is achieved via interpictorial responses to other images. Thus, variations
in works of art cannot be regarded always as mistakes but actually sources and expressions
of creativity. 4 In much the same way, Clément Chéroux examines Thomas E. Franklin’s
photograph of three firefighters “Raising the Flag at Ground Zero” (September 11, 2001),
whose composition and ideas conveyed refer to the Joe Rosenthal’s photograph of six
marines “Raising the Flag on Iwo Jima” (February 23, 1945). Against the definition of
these images as palimpsests, that is re ecting other images from the nation’s visual mem-
ory scraping or washing off the initial image, Chéroux defines Franklin and Rosenthal’s
photographs as cases of interpictoriality, arguing that mechanisms of interpictoriality can
reveal hidden and intentional meanings that could in uence the viewer historically, polit-
ically and, especially, psychologically. 5
Finally, in dealing with the mechanisms of interpictoriality, I should clarify a seman-
tic difference between image and picture. In fact, there seems to be a basic difference in
English – in other modern languages as well – between the two terms and I will quote W.
J. Thomas Mitchell for a practical and trenchant definition: “The picture is a material ob-
ject, a thing you can burn or break or tear; an image is what appears in a picture, and what
survives its destruction – in memory, in narrative, in copies and traces in other media. […]
The picture, then, is the image as it appears in a material support or a specific place. […]
The image never appears except in some medium or other, but it is also what transcends
media, what can be transferred from one medium to another […].” 6 The image, then, is a
highly abstract and rather minimal entity that can be evoked with a single word. 7
3 In the environment of ancient Near Eastern art, ancient sources show that the Assyrian kings took a
personal interest in the design and construction of their palaces and their interior decoration. There
is also mention of the craftsmanship involved in the execution of the patron’s projects (Nadali and
Verderame 2019). However, there is no explicit reference to specific artistic personalities. Compared
to Greek or Roman art, where the originality and individual artistic personality were highly ven-
erated and celebrated, in the ancient Near East there seems to have been no intention to identify
specific figures (Gunter 1990 and 2019; Nadali 2014, 469–471). In any event, the word artist will be
used throughout the following pages without any fruitless controversial distinction between artist,
artisan, or craftsman, being the basic definition sufficient to define anyone who paints, draws, or
makes sculptures.
4 Laboury 2017.
5 Chéroux 2010, 82–85.
6 Mitchell 2015, 16–18.
7 On the semantic distinction, based on modern linguistic difference and inference, between “image”
and “picture”, see also Belting 2001, 11–55, esp. 14–18, 2005; Nadali 2012, 584.
Live and Let Live Images 117
The second approach centres on George Lakoff and Mark Johnson’s Conceptual Met-
aphor Theory. This theory conceives metaphor not only as a question of language but of
thinking and consequently of behaving. Metaphors are therefore pervasive not only in
certain genres striving to create some artistic effect, but also in the most neutral and causal
used forms of language. Accordingly, some linguistic metaphors are part of native speak-
ers’ mental lexicon. In detail, the Conceptual Metaphor Theory involves understanding
one domain of experience, which is generally more abstract, in terms of a very different
domain of experience, which is more concrete and readily comprehensible. In few words,
in our effort to understand the world, it makes easier to conceptualize the cognitively less
easily accessible domains in terms of the more easily accessible ones. A conceptual meta-
phor is a systematic set of correspondences, or mappings, between two domains of experi-
ence. More technically, for instance, when talking about argumentation (arguments, dis-
cussions, debates, etc.), we find in English a number of expressions such as “your claims
are indefensible”; “he attacked every weak point in my argument”; “his criticisms were
right on target”; “I demolished his argument.” What is common to all these expressions is
the use of war and battle terms to express the experience of argumentation where, howev-
er, the words “indefensible”, “attack”, “on target”, “demolish” are not meant literally but
figuratively to represent arguments. Thus, we are dealing with the concept “argument”
in terms of war: this conceptual structure can be said to be metaphorical. In this case the
conceptual metaphor is ARGUMENT IS WAR, where ARGUMENT (target domain)
is partially structured, understood, performed and talked about in terms of WAR (source
domain). The concept is metaphorically structured, and, consequently, the language is
metaphorically structured. 8 A further metaphorical example may also deal with spatial
orientation, such as up-down, in-out, front-back, on- off, deep-shallow, central-periph-
eral: for instance, in the sentence “I’m feeling up today”, the concept HAPPY is oriented
UP so that HAPP IS UP. These are called by Lakoff and Johnson Orientational Meta-
phors and organize a whole system of concepts with respect to one another. 9 Therefore,
Conceptual Metaphor Theory focuses on the cognitive processes behind language rep-
resentation, with particular emphasis on the relationships between metaphorical concep-
tualization and figurative meaning.
Now, since metaphors reside not only in language but also in thought and we use met-
aphors not only to speak about certain aspects of the world but also to think about them,
they are often highly conventional. Thus, metaphors can be found in any form of commu-
nication in any time and language with the consequence that this theory can be applied
also to past culture evidence. Additionally, by regarding metaphors as an essential process
and product of the mind, metaphor is not only essential to the language but also to art. In
fact, metaphors are pivotal also in nonverbal manifestations. Referring to Rudolf Arn-
heim’s study related to art and visual thinking, George Lakoff discovered that Arnheim
had written about the phenomenon of conceptual metaphor long before Lakoff came up
with that idea. Lakoff starts off his analysis from the so-called image schemas, which are not
8 Further examples can be found in Lakoff and Johnson 1980, 4–5.

9 Lakoff and Johnson 1980, 15–19.
concrete images that one can see, but schemas, mental images, or cognitive structures that
fit many scenes that you can see. They re ect the shape of an object, its location, the tra-
jectory of movement: in the sentence “Harry walked through the kitchen into the dining
room”, the meaning of into consists of a CONTAINER, that is a bounded region in space,
and a PATH, with a SOURCE and a GOAL. 10 In dealing with image schemas, Lakoff
turned to Arnheim’s thought, where he wrote that the reason why language is so impor-
tant for the process of thinking is that people do not think only by means of words, but by
means of visual images, and that many words are recognizably figurative. 11 In this respect,
Arnheim provides the sentence “profundity of mind” as example, which contains the Lat-
in fundus, that is bottom, so that the ‘depth’ of a well and ‘depth’ of thought are described
by the same word. 12 Thus, the notion of the depth of thought is derived from physical
depth. This example, as Arnheim highlights, points out that many words are recognised as
metaphorical expressions, the source of which is perceptual experience.
In the light of this analysis, Lakoff observes that Arnheim had a basic understanding
of metaphor as conceptual, not merely linguistic, and of the conceptual as based on the
perceptual, with the suspicion that Arnheim had the idea that structures like image sche-
mas actually give form to art, and that metaphors apply to image schemas in works of art,
to give meaning to the work of art. 13 The practical application of this axiom is demonstrat-
ed by the example provided by Lakoff through Rembrandt’s Christ at Emmaus, whose
description by Arnheim Lakoff translates into the language of cognitive linguistics as fol-
lows: “A grouping is the imposition of a CONTAINER schema, a bounding of a region
of space with figures contained within. Arnheim describes two such schemas, one with-
out the servant boy and one with him. In the inner CONTAINER schema, Christ is in
the center and highest. The metaphors interpreting this arrangement are IMPORTANT
IS CENTRAL and DIVINE IS UP. Not only is Christ, the divine, the highest, but he
is looking up, toward the divine God. In the upper grouping, the servant boy appears.
He is painted as being in the middle of an action, serving Christ food. This puts him
socially below Christ, but Christ is painted as below him, the metaphor being HUMIL-
ITY IS DOWN. The same metaphor interprets the structure of the servant boy’s body:
he is bowing, tilting his body down toward Christ, showing his humility. The action of
serving Christ food is metaphorical for serving Christ. The light emanating from Christ
instantiates one of our culture’s basic metaphors for God: God is the source of what is
good, in this case the source of light, which is interpreted via two conventional meta-
phors: MORALITY IS LIGHT and KNOWLEDGE IS LIGHT. The image schemas
structuring the painting are orientational: HIGH-LOW, two CONTAINER schemas,
two CENTER- PERIPHERY schemas, and LIGHT-DARK. Our conventional cultural
10 Lakoff 2006, 153–154.

11 “What makes language so valuable for thinking, then, cannot be thinking in words. It must be the
help that words lend to thinking while it operates in a more appropriate medium, such as visual
imagery” (Arnheim 1969, 231–232).
12 Arnheim 1969, 232–233.
13 Ibid.; Lakoff 2006, 153–158. See also Limont 2014, 73–76.
metaphors apply to these schemas structuring the painting, to give it a meaning express-
ing an important aspect of the Protestant religious tradition: The ordinary person serves
Christ in all humility, while Christ, the most important figure as the source of goodness
and knowledge, sets the example, showing his own humility relative to people, and look-
ing upward to God.” 14 This analysis implies that in a work of art the important thing is
the basic scheme of the composition, which is the carrier of the most significant content.
A more fundamental consequence is, however, the fact that to fully understand a work of
art we must experience it and metaphors must be correctly interpreted, because concep-
tual metaphors can be part of a work of art – a painting in this instance – or underpin its
composition. Using the words of Lakoff, “Arnheim’s point is that form is not just form;
metaphors apply to forms to give meaning. Form is therefore a vehicle for inference, and
the content of the inference depends on the metaphor.” 15
The third methodological approach is similar to the Conceptual Metaphor Theory,
but relies on a different type of metaphor that maps conventional mental images onto
other conventional mental images by virtue of their internal structure. George Lakoff
refers to these as Image Metaphors. In the example “My wife … whose waist is an hour-
glass”, quoting Lakoff “we understand this as an image mapping in which the mental
image of an hourglass is mapped onto the mental image of the wife, with the central nar-
row portion of the hourglass corresponding to the wife’s waist.” 16 To map the hourglass
image onto the woman image, both images must be therefore structured in terms of a
general shape. Accordingly, image metaphors occur when there is both a source image
and a target image that the source image maps onto. This kind of metaphors differs from
the conceptual ones, because they are not usually used in everyday reasoning, they more
often map image structure rather than propositional structure, and they do not interpret
the abstract in terms of the concrete. Thus, image metaphors have their basis in and re ect
physical similarity, and their presence in a text depends on the extent to which shapes,
textures and other physical phenomena form the subject matter. 17
Having set out the theoretical premises, I will now turn to the three case studies com-
ing from the reliefs of Ashurbanipal in order to track the way metaphors travelled through
time according to the rules of the mechanism of interpictoriality.
The Bird of Prey
The first case study is represented by the bird of prey of the battlefield depicted in the reliefs
showing the Battle of Til-Tuba, which came originally from Room 33 of the Southwest Pal-
ace at Nineveh and now in the British Museum collection (fig. 1). The open space where the
battle takes place is divided into three horizontal registers, each indicated by a ground line.
14 Lakoff 2006, 156.

15 Ibid.
16 Lakoff 1987, 219.
17 Shuttleworth 2017, 175–176.
Fig. 1: Nineveh, Southwest Palace, Room 33, relief of Ashurbanipal, detail from a sequence
of the Battle of Til-Tuba. British Museum, 124801 ( The Trustees of the British Museum)
The story starts in the middle of the top register, and ows from left to right; it turns to the
lower register, then returns to the top register and moves out to the left of the scene. The
scene is absolutely crammed with detail, focusing on the fate of the Elamite king, Teum-
man, and his son, Tammaritu. These main characters indicate the direction and movement
of the story and how it develops. This pictorial narrative method was defined as “continu-
ous style”, which leads the viewer to follow the story unconsciously from the point of view
of the protagonists and proceeds linearly, namely in one direction as it unfolds. 18
Within the chaotic and highly animated episode the sequence of five birds of prey de-
vouring parts of the faces and limbs of corpses of Elamites lying on the ground stands out
for its intentionally slow cadence and visual prominence. The ferocious scene is positioned
above three prominent narratives of the battle: first, Teumman kneels beside Tammaritu
who resists by drawing his bow; second, Tammaritu is next shown being executed with a
blow from a mace, and his decapitated body lies on top of his father, who has been forced
to the ground and is about to be beheaded; third, in the middle register, an Assyrian soldier
18 For a careful analysis of the scene, its style and compositional scheme, see Watanabe 2008a, 321–325
and 2008b, with references to previous literature.
walks joyfully towards the left, waving Teumann’s head. The main and largest epigraph
dominating the daunting episode states: “Teumman, king of Elam, was wounded in fierce
battle. Tammaritu, his eldest son, took him by the hand and they ed to save their lives.
They hid in the midst of a forest. With the encouragement of Assur and Ishtar, I killed
them. I cut off their heads before one another.” 19 By superimposing these scenes, one may
note that the birds of prey and the practice of decapitation are visually associated: the birds
of prey devouring Elamites catch the attention of the viewer on the most salient scene of
the battle, that is the beheading of the Elamite king and his son, and anticipate the fate of
Teumman and Tammaritu. Moreover, one must observe that of the four corpses pecked by
the birds, only two have their heads being devoured by the birds: this seems to me a clear
allusion to Teumman and Tammaritu, whose decapitation is about to happen.
Whilst looking at this picture, the mechanism of interpictoriality sparks a kind of “dé-
jà-vu” effect in the viewer, a feeling of having already seen that picture. In fact, a very sim-
ilar scene of birds of prey devouring dead bodies is found on the reliefs from the throne
room of the Northwest Palace of Ashurnasirpal II (883–859 BCE) at Kalhu, in particular
on the reliefs labelled B-3, lower register, and B-11, upper register. 20 Further partially sim-
ilar instances are found in a drawing made by Layard and a relief originally coming from
the palace of Tiglath-pileser III (744–727 BCE), which show a vulture carrying entrails in
its claws and beak. 21 The latter actually show the bird in its role of a bird of prey. However,
the subject presents a bird quite different in appearance and the composition greatly di-
verges from that of Ashurnasirpal II and Assurbanipal’s battle reliefs, suggesting that the
image source or model for Ashurbanipal’s reliefs was Ashurnasirpal II’s figurative pro-
gram, whose palace was certainly extant and still visited at the time of Ashurbanipal. 22 In
addition, as noted by Rita Dolce, on Ashurnasirpal II’s reliefs it seems a deliberate choice
to employ two different size scales of heads in the same figurative representation, with the
consequence that the birds may attack both anonymous heads and heads of individuals
who can probably be identified as prominent. 23 Such an association between birds of prey
and decapitation is clearly adopted by Ashurbanipal’s artists, where the actions of the
birds of prey, like the practice of decapitation itself, are selective, that is to say they peck
the heads of anonymous individuals but hover above prominent characters. Therefore,
I conclude that since no similar scenes have been found in the period that intervened
19 Russell 1999, 170–171.

20 In other examples from the same palace, however, the big bird is depicted as an active participant in
battle, providing encouragement for the army, and in only one instance in direct association with
the king himself. For an overview of the occurrences of the bird on the reliefs lining the south wall
of the throne room of Ashurnasirpal II, see Meuszyoski 1981, pl. 2.
21 Barnett and Falkner 1962, pls. LI, L VII.
22 Either the eagle or the vulture (or both) is a plausible identification of the bird represented on the
Assyrian reliefs. At this stage of the research, however, I hesitate from making a definitive statement
on this issue. That the Northwest Palace of Ashurnasirpal II, and thus Kalhu itself, was regularly
visited at the time of Ashurbanipal is proved by a number of archaeological evidence (Postgate and
Reade 1976–1989, 311–314, 322; Reade 2011, 117–118).
23 Dolce 2018, 50, figs. 4.9a–c.
between Ashurnasirpal II and Ashurbanipal, the image of the birds of prey devouring
dead bodies are probably interpictorially related, in the sense that they instantiate the
same thematic subject. In detail, by focusing on a strictly formalistic system of categori-
sation, according to the one proposed by Nina Heydemann, it could be ascertained that
in this instance the following strategies of representation come into play: the composition
of Ashurbanipal’s relief being referred to is multiplied through the so-called strategy of
multiplication, and something is added or taken away from the quoted artwork through
the so-called strategy of addition or subtraction. 24 In fact, the number of birds increases,
from two to five, and the number of dead bodies being devoured moves from two to four
accordingly; the composition changes orientation and the birds have closed wing feathers.
Although the conclusion that Ashurbanipal’s artists have drawn inspiration from a
past example appears unavoidable, one must equally recognise that a semantic reinterpre-
tation of the motif occurs in the process of transmission. On some of Ashurnasirpal II’s
reliefs the bird was shown actively assisting the Assyrian forces in battle together with the
winged disk – a symbol that encompasses multiple associations which include Ninurta,
Assur and Shamash – and more specifically was interpreted as a reference or allusion to
Anzu, the chief emblem of the god Ninurta. 25 As pointed out by Mehmet-Ali Ataç, the
symbolic affinity or association with the winged disk suggests that the bird was consid-
ered as an auspicious token, an element of aid and encouragement in the battle, the visual
metaphor of a kind of good luck or good fortune and royal destiny that bears the sense
of a successful outcome. 26 Now, neither the winged disk nor metaphoric meanings are
apparently present in Ashurbanipal’s sources. Rather, it seems that Ashurbanipal’s artists
visually emptied the bird of its divine and symbolic connotations, using it as visual meta-
phor of royal fortune and successful victory. In fact, there must be a concept or a concep-
tual metaphor in Ashurbanipal’s relief, because the scene is neither a simplistic moment
of the battle nor the end of the battle; instead it ratifies the successful stage of the battle,
which is the killing of the enemy king. Accordingly, the entire scene can be described in
the language of cognitive linguistics as follows: a group of birds of prey devouring five
corpses are directly located above the main characters of the episode, who are also the
goal of the entire battle. This indicates that the presence of the birds of prey prefigures
24 Heydemann 2015, 16. Each work of art may display different kinds of interpictorial artistic strategies
and the cases of transmission can be diverse, shifting from simple to complex quotation, transfor-
mation and re-adaptation of images. To the strategies of multiplication, addition, and subtraction,
the composition, motif or figure of the artwork being referred to can be replaced with something
else (strategy of substitution), or it can be divided or combined with references to other art-works
(strategy of division or combination).
25 Pering 1932–1933, 287; Ata 2018a, 44–47; Dolce 2018, 50. In the art of earlier ancient Mesopo-
tamia and also in the first millennium Assyria, Anzu was represented as a lion-headed eagle: each
animal body part conveyed a particular notion derived from its original function, thus its composite
body structure provides multiple options, which evoke corresponding ideas and concepts related to
the context. On this issue, see Winter 1985, 14; Watanabe 2002, 126–136. For the winged disk, see
Ornan 2005; Ata 2010.
26 Ata 2018a, 43–51.
the successful victory of the battle, that is to say that they are the very visual metaphor of
the victory. The conceptual metaphor interpreting this arrangement is THE SUCCESS
COMES FROM A BIRD OF PREY, where the target domain, SUCCESS, is structured
in terms of a source domain, BIRD OF PREY. Another conceptual metaphor is DIVINE
IS UP. In fact, although the birds do not stand for the divine, they are placed above the
general action, much as in Ashurnasirpal II’s reliefs, they point out that SUCCESS IS UP,
that is it comes from gods. This metaphor is further emphasised by the epigraph, which
states “With the encouragement of Assur and Ishtar, I killed them. I cut off their heads
before one another.” Thus, through the text, Assur is seemingly again associated with
the birds of prey, as in Ashurnasirpal II’s reliefs. But if DIVINE IS UP, by contrast, Teu-
mann and Tammaritu are looking down: this puts them socially and politically below the
divine and the Assyrians, the metaphor being HUMILITY IS DOWN. Therefore, the
metaphors used in these schemas structure the entire composition, and give it a meaning
expressing an important aspect of the battle and the victory: the enemy bows down to the
Assyrians in total humility and submission at the behest of the natural forces which stand
for the gods. These metaphors, together with the epigraph describing the beheading of
the Elamites Teumman and Tammaritu, add further visual and textual cues that explain
and reinforce the message and might be expected to focus the attention of the illiterate or
foreign viewer.
The Lotus Flower
After the victory over the Elamites, Ashurbanipal engages in a celebratory banquet with
distinct ritual overtones, depicted in the famous “garden scene”, a relief slab thought to
have fallen from the upper level of Room S (named Room S1) in the North Palace of
Ashurbanipal at Nineveh (fig. 2). In the second case I examine, Ashurbanipal reclines on
a couch opposite the queen, with a laden table between them, and holds a lotus blossom
in one hand and a bowl in the other, under a grapevine canopy. Ashurbanipal’s eyes focus
on a decapitated head, almost certainly that of Teumman, which hangs from a fir tree. 27
The setting of the episode is often thought to be the private gardens of Ashurbanipal’s
27 As Bonatz 2004, 93 notes, heads of individuals that had been beheaded normally remained anony-
mous objects or only rarely were named in sources. In Neo-Assyrian times, the earliest evidence for
individually named heads is given by the king Esarhaddon and this becomes more evident as human
trophy and image of power in the reign of Ashurbanipal. Although there are numerous references
in the royal inscriptions of Ashurbanipal to the decapitation of Teumann and its display at the city
gates of Nineveh and Arbela during triumphal celebrations, nonetheless there is no mention of its
display in the garden (for references, see in particular, Bonatz 2004; Russell 1999, 154–209). There-
fore, the identification of the hanging head in the “garden scene” with that of Teumann remains a
conjecture in the absence of an epigraph on the relief (see, in this respect, Ata 2018b, 155).
Fig. 2: Nineveh, North Palace, Room S1, relief of Ashurbanipal, the “garden scene.”
British Museum, 124920 ( The Trustees of the British Museum)
queen, identified with Libbali-sharrat, primarily on the basis of the presence of an all-fe-
male body of attendants and musicians surrounding the royal couple. 28
This composition has been explored by a number of scholars, who differently argue for
a political and military reading, or bestow a gender or regenerative symbolism upon the
scene. Pauline Albenda, in her detailed analysis, interpreted the entire episode as the first
representation of an unknown theme in Assyrian art, that is peace. Quoting Albenda:
“Its aspect as the state of tranquillity is stressed on the bas-reliefs by the calm and peace-
ful nature of wildlife and the rich fullness of plant life.” Besides, she suggested that the
“garden scene” stands for several chronologically different victories represented by the
trophies once possessed by the kings of Elam, Egypt, and Babylonia, such as the sword,
bow, and quiver on the table, likely weapons of Teumann, and an Egyptian-style neck-
lace. The taking of these select objects proclaims and reasserts Assyria’s power, with the
consequence that two different themes have been con ated into one scene: the banquet
of the royal couple and the display of trophies. 29 Paul Collins focused on the symbolism
of the vegetation, by suggesting in particular that pine trees and date palms surrounding
the royal couple may have respectively symbolized Assyria, since pine trees were native
to Assyria, and fertility, since it was so conceived in the Mesopotamian tradition. Addi-
tionally, by reviewing Mesopotamian iconography, he further proposes that the fruiting
date palm is a marker of femininity and the conifer tree symbol of masculinity. 30 More
recently, following this line of thought, Ataç highlighted the vegetal symbolism and re-
generation of the garden scene. Particularly, the grapevine has clearly connotations not
28 Albenda 1977, 44–45. See also Barnett 1976, 56; Collins 2004. The identification of this female-like
figure as the queen has been questioned and scholars have proposed more allegorical and symbolic
interpretations rather than historical (see Ata 2018b, 156 for a reappraisal of previous studies).
29 Albenda 1977.
30 Collins 2004 and 2006.
only of fertility but also of regeneration and paradise. Quoting Ataç: “Along with the date
palm, the olive, and the fig, the vine is one of the quintessentially symbolic plants of great-
er Mediterranean and Near Eastern geography, all of which had connotations not only of
fertility but also possibly of regeneration and paradise. At a symbolic level, partaking of
wine and possessing a magical ower held in the hand may be considered as life-giving
activities, life again understood in its sense of eternal life or immortality.” 31 He thus con-
siders all the activities performed in the scene as life-giving activities. The investigation
proceeds further as Ataç discusses the ambivalent nature of rule, power, wealth, and lux-
uriance through the complexities of royal or tyrannical power in ancient Greek literature
and its topoi in the depiction of the ancient monarch or tyrant. The whole “garden scene”
should be read accordingly as the ideal environment, an almost supernatural realm, with
a number of indicators for an idealized bliss for Ashurbanipal, such as the date palm, the
grapevine, possible wine drinking, and the company of a woman. Such a reality is defined
by the author as “transcendent.” However, the death and decay symbolized by the head
of Teumman conveys the “transient” aspect of the entire scene, accentuated by the detail
of the bird sweeping as if to swallow the locust, interpreted as Assyria’s defeat of Elam. 32
From this last point I should like to further the discussion by analysing the lotus ower
held by the king, proceeding through an interpictorial analysis. In fact, the lotus ower
is mostly found on reliefs of Tiglath-pileser III from his Central Palace at Kalhu and Sar-
gon II from his royal palace at Dur-Sharrukin. A number of plants held by these kings
appear and are variously described as blossoming ower with long leaves or triple ower
of pomegranates or poppy heads. Clear evidence of the lotus ower is however found on a
single relief of Tiglath-pileser III, who is shown on his chariot, and more extensively from
Sargon II’s reliefs at Dur-Sharrukin. 33 Afterwards, the surviving figurative programs of
Sargon’s successors do not show clear examples of similar plants as royal insigne, and the
only instance we can refer to is this relief of Ashurbanipal. This suggests that the motif
of the king holding the lotus ower was deliberately omitted for years and then readopted
during Ashurbanipal’s reign relying on examples coming from the reliefs of Kalhu and
Dur- Sharrukin. In contrast to Kalhu, the royal palace of Sargon II at Dur-Sharrukin
was abandoned after Sargon’s death and the transfer of the capital city to Nineveh by
Sennacherib, with the consequence that Dur-Sharrukin became a minor administrative
centre. 34 Only a single text attests to the use of the capital in later times, in which Sargon’s
palace is apparently referred to as “old.” 35 This textual evidence, together with the inter-
iconical relation, might further support the hypothesis that Dur- Sharrukin was still used
in the time of Ashurbanipal and some reliefs may have represented a source of inspiration
for Ashurbanipal’s artists.
31 Ata 2018b, 161.

32 Ata 2018b, 163–168.
33 See Portuese 2018, 101–102 for a review of the iconographic repertoire attesting to the use of the
lotus ower as royal insigne.
34 McMahon 2013, 166.
35 SAA 5 282: 10; Kertai 2015, 109 footnote 125.
Thus, it seems that the motif of the king holding a lotus ower comes into fashion
again in the times of Ashurbanipal. The question then is: was the meaning of the lo-
tus ower reinterpreted? The significance of this plant was barely examined in previous
scholarship. In his short monograph on the relationship between the king and the so-
called Tree of Life in ancient Near Eastern religion, Geo Widengren addressed a general
discussion on the power of the king to impart life to his subjects through his possession of
the plant of life. The author relies on a number of textual and visual examples and swiftly
interrogates sources of Neo-Assyrian period from which he draws the conclusive remark
that the life may also have been communicated by the king through the inhalation of the
scent of the plant. The so-called Tree of Life is not identified with a specific plant, but any
iconographic reference showing the king holding a plant would indicate the Plant of Life
and that the king is life’s giver. 36 In a quite similar vein, in a recent article I suggested that,
for its inherent properties, the lotus ower depicted as held by the king on a number of
Neo-Assyrian reliefs well embodies the connotations of a magically ensured general no-
tion of life and might accordingly be identified with the Plant of Life attested in Neo-As-
syrian texts, as shown in the following example: “The king, my lord, has reared me from
my childhood until the present day, and ten times has the king, my lord, taken my hand
and saved my life from my enemies. You are a merciful king. You have done good to all the
four quarters of the earth and [placed] the plant of life in their nostrils.” 37
My view is that the textual evidence of Neo-Assyrian period – especially royal let-
ters – referring to the plant of life are subtly metaphorical: the writer moves from death
to life and appeals to the Assyrian king, who represents the factual source of life. Life is
metaphorically described by the action of placing the plant of life in the nostrils or mouth
of the needy. Since metaphor is here defined as understanding one conceptual domain in
terms of another conceptual domain, the scribes talk and think about life and rejuvena-
tion (target domain) in terms of a plant (source domain) proffered to the needy. Therefore,
the action of saving the life is partially structured, understood, performed and talked
about in terms of offering the plant of life. In this light, I contend that the plant of life can
be conceived as a conventionalized expression used to indicate the thaumaturgic powers
of the Assyrian king capable of proffering protection and assistance to his subjects.
With this in mind, going back to the “garden scene” of Ashurbanipal I believe that the
same conceptual metaphor of the lotus ower travelled through time: the king holding the
lotus ower is positioned opposite the head of Teumman, that is to say that the life-giving
ruler is the antithesis of the head of Teumman that symbolizes the death. Therefore, the
whole scene must be seen as metaphor of regeneration, paradise and life, the ideal scenario
for those who submit their own life to the Assyrian king. The entire composition is thus
bipolar, or ambivalent using the words of Ataç, in that it is conceived as the showcase of
two different statuses: the living and the dead. This is further emphasised by another
conceptual type of metaphor, the orientational one. Everyone in the episode looks at the
king, even the hanging head, which is by contrast turned upside-down. Following Megan
36 Widengren 1951, 20–41.

37 SAA 10 166: 6-r. 4. Portuese 2018.
Cifarelli, from Neo-Assyrian texts and pictures we learn that an upright posture was as-
sociated with dignity and correctness, and holding the head high perhaps indicated pride
because, arguably, one could see the face of the king or god. This posture in fact was an
element expressing reciprocity because implied an eye contact between figures of different
rank. In sharp visual contrast, it seems that stooping, bending the neck, lowering the head
figuratively expressed low status, humility, and submission. This posture boosted asym-
metry and reduced reciprocity, limiting an eye contact with the king or god. 38 These social
and cultural meanings lay down the basis for the orientational metaphors which have to
do with the basic spatial orientation up-down. In fact, the status is correlated with (social)
power and (physical) power is UP, while lower status is DOWN. Happiness, health, life,
and control, the things that principally characterize what is good for a person, are all UP.
Such an orientational metaphor basically tends to be bipolar and bivalent, where up has a
positive value, while down tends to have a negative value. This is what the “garden scene”
actually mirrors: the head of Teumann keeps looking at the king because Teumann him-
self is a king, but it is turned upside-down as to indicate that is dead.
In sum, the whole composition represents metaphorically the ambivalent or bipolar
nature of life under the king’s rule, which may be characterized by life and death. There
are nuances of merciful and benevolent king’s attitudes in the “garden scene”, whose
messages were most likely addressed in a rather concealed form to a restricted number
of persons who could have access to the upper rooms of the palace and could correctly
grasp the metaphorical meanings of the picture, which surely required a certain degree of
knowledge to be understood. 39
The Lion Hunt
The third case study is represented by the lion hunt depicted on the walls of Room C in
the North Palace at Nineveh. The whole palace decoration seems to have been devoted to
the royal hunt: Room C, conceived as a corridor, was at the end of a route which displayed
hunting scenes (room S) and bodies of lions (corridor R). The fallen series from room S1
showed the same theme as well. 40
The episode in Room C is arranged according to a continuous narrative, with figures
repeated over and over to express both movement and time of the narrative (fig. 3). The
king is first represented outside the arena, in preparation for the hunt in the act of receiv-
ing the bow (slabs 4–6); then, he appears three times on his chariot, each time holding a
38 Cifarelli 1998, 215.

39 Once again, it seems that such a bipolarity as well as the often neglected paternalism of the Assyrian
king are manifested in every epoch in the Neo-Assyrian art (for further analyses, see Portuese 2017
and 2019).
40 Kertai 2015, 184 suggests that the abundance of hunting scenes in the North Palace might re ect
one of the purposes of the palace, that is to say that the palace itself may have been the setting for
such hunts and associated ceremonies and celebrations.
Fig. 3: Nineveh, North Palace, plan of Room C

(after Watanabe 2014: fig. 4; by courtesy of Prof. Dr. C. E. Watanabe)
different weapon: bow and arrows on the northeast wall (slabs 13–15), sword and lance on
the southwest wall (slabs 20–25). The hunt starts on the left of the northeast wall, where
the king prepares for the hunting activities; to the right is a wooded hill on which stands a
royal stele depicting a miniature of the lion-hunt from a chariot (slab 9). To the right of the
hill is depicted the actual action, where wounded lions move or face toward the left (fig.
4). They are struck by the arrows of the king, who shoots from his chariot with the bow.
A lion already wounded, in particular, springs at it from the rear, only to fall transfixed by
the spears of the king’s two beardless attendants. Under the chariot rolls a dying lioness
(slabs 11–15). The southwest wall shows two royal chariots facing each other, with the fig-
ure of a rampant lion between the two vehicles (fig. 5). The king on the chariot on the left
thrusts a sword into the throat of the lion, and the king on the right holds a spear to pierce
the lion, which has sprung onto the wheel of the chariot (slabs 20–25).
Unlike the above-described battle of Til-Tuba, the way the story develops is neither
clearly indicated nor can a linear development of the narrative be traced. There is in fact
no indication of the relative time or the location of the event or events taking place in
the scene, and this perhaps suggests that the whole room may have displayed different
stages of one event. In this respect, Chikako E. Watanabe suspects that the main aim of
Room C’s reliefs was not the depiction of the development of the story, but rather the
glorification of the royal figure. However, she notes that the whole hunting scene is rather
orbiting around the lions, which face and move in the direction of the next story and con-
sequently represent the main protagonist of the scene, being the story narrated from the
Fig. 4: Nineveh, North Palace, Room C, relief of Ashurbanipal, slabs 13–15.

British Museum, 124866-8 ( The Trustees of the British Museum)
point of view of the lion. 41 She discusses further the differences in the chariot crews and in
the king’s personal ornaments in each lion hunt, concluding that two different lion hunt
events are integrated here, which were carried out at different times and possibly in differ-
ent places. 42 Additionally, focusing on the centric arrangement applied to the lion hunt
reliefs on the southwest wall where two chariots are about to crash into each other in a
head-on collision, Watanabe notes that this compositional scheme is basically determined
by symmetrical visual ows that face each other and are directed towards the centre of the
scene. Such an arrangement – whose oldest example is represented by the reliefs of Ashur-
nasirpal II where the king appears twice facing a tree – is used to integrate different events
in time and place in the same scene, as if these events are all taking place simultaneously. 43
41 Watanabe 2008a,326–331.
42 Relying on the weapon the king uses to kill the lion, Watanabe 2014, 355 identifies three scenes: the
sword scene, the lance scene and the bow and arrow scene.
43 Watanabe 2014. Nadali 2018, 213–217 also distinguishes two events in the Room C, respectively
one on the eastern and north eastern wall and the other on the south western wall. However, he
diverges from Watanabe’s view on the symmetrical arrangement and rejects the comparison with
Ashurnasirpal II’s double figure at the side of the stylized tree, because the two groups differ from
each other, with both kings and the two attendants looking backward as they are all involved in
an action of defence. He rather argues for a narrative explanation of the apparent symmetry by
asserting that the static incongruence is actually the synthesis and combination of circumstances
occurring in the same space, the arena, but at different times. The consequence of this narrative
device is that there is no precise or preferred itinerary to follow the story, but any viewer can expe-
rience a “work in movement” without visual restrictions of time and place. The lion in the middle
would be thus a temporal marker, distinguishing the two on-going actions, a connection of the “two
heterogeneous durations.”
As for the meaning of the lion hunt, this has been carefully investigated by Watanabe who
points out that, in general, Mesopotamian lion metaphors used in the royal context can
be interpreted as means to elucidate the nature and aspects of the king in terms of specif-
ic animal features. 4 4 For instance, in the royal inscriptions Ashurnasirpal II is described
with a number of epithets that glorify the king as praise-worthy, powerful, magnificent,
foremost, virile, hero, warrior, but also as a lion, since the animal properties are well-suit-
able for the ideas related to such a king. In much the same way, the king Esarhaddon is
described as merciless and brave in battle, whose walking is a Deluge and who acts as a
fierce lion. The aggressiveness of the king and the devastating effect of the Deluge, in
other words, are juxtaposed and compared to the ferocity of the lion, which can be un-
controllable as much as the king with his troops. 45 Additionally, Watanabe relates the lion
44 In respect to the relationship between the king and the lion in Mesopotamia, Elena Cassin (1981)
was the first to carry out a systematic study on textual evidence by arguing that the lion was chosen
for the king because the animal is the king of the wild. Besides the metaphorical implications of
the lion hunt, Jülide Aker (2007) has identified in the entire relief program of Room C different
qualities of workmanship, which reveals greater gradation directly correlated to physical and social
distance of specific figures from the king. Thus, the various degrees of quality depended on the
status of the figure represented, with the consequence that quality of the execution functioned as a
deliberate ideological tool that articulated and enforced rank and social status. In this light, the lion
hunt of Room C may have had also the role of conferring prestige upon those figures depicted and
circumscribing them into a precise rank order.
45 Watanabe relies on Max Black’s interaction theory of metaphor, according to which in the meta-
phorical statement the primary subject and the secondary are interactive, in the sense that the char-
acteristics of the secondary subject and its associated implications are applied onto the primary.
Fig. 5: Nineveh, North Palace, Room C, relief of Ashurbanipal, slabs 20–25.

British Museum, 124850-1, 124852-5 ( The Trustees of the British Museum)
hunt with the Ninurta myth since the method of the royal lion hunt in Assyria, namely
hunting from the chariot or on swift foot, corresponds to the two major means of rep-
resenting Ninurta’s victory. Thus, as much as Ninurta achieves his divine kingship by
slaying monsters, the Assyrian king also establishes and reinforces his kingship by killing
lions. This implies that the killing of the lion was a prerogative of the king and not al-
lowed to anyone else, because the king was the only capable to subjugate the wild nature
of the lion. In a sense, the king and the kingship controlled the order of society but also
embodied the wild features of the lion at the moment of killing, that is to say its violent
and mercilessness aspects against both animals and humans. The killing of the lions thus
symbolized the prowess and power of the king to repel and ward off any evil force against
the cultural order established in the civilized society ruled by the king. 46
Having set out the premises on the Room C’s decoration and the significance of the
royal hunt in ancient Assyria, I turn now to the Image Metaphor theory and the interpic-
toriality to unveil further potential hidden meanings of the figurative program of Room
C. The lion hunt as palace decoration emerges as a strong Assyrian tradition in the times
of Ashurnasirpal II and Ashurbanipal – a gap of around two centuries. This aspect might
be related to the fact that the cult of Ninurta was prominently exalted both in the reign of
Ashurnasirpal II and Ashurbanipal. In fact, Ninurta was elected as principal god of Kalhu
when Ashurnasirpal II rebuilt the city as new capital of Assyria; in addition, the Sumerian
Each element, furthermore, is also mutually in uential on and in uenced by the context (frame)
of the metaphor (Black 1962). The introduction of this book discusses further Watanabe’s work.
46 Watanabe 1998, 441–448.
version of the Ninurta myths were kept in the library of Ashurbanipal. 47 Since there are no
lion hunts recorded on palace wall panels between the reigns of these two kings, it seems
that Ashurbanipal, consciously adopted, re-used and re-interpreted this iconographic mo-
tif along, perhaps, with its metaphorical and cultural meanings. Particularly, one single ep-
isode of the hunt depicted in Room C, the hunting scene on the northeast wall (slabs 13–14,
fig. 4), appears to be close in almost all aspects to the upper register of relief labelled B-19
coming from the throne room of the Northwest Palace of Ashurnasirpal II’s at Kalhu. 48
Both scenes, besides showing the same thematic subject, are in fact structured in an isosce-
les triangle whose apex occurs above the conical headdress of the king: this structure relies
on an imaginary triangle, the base of which rests upon the baseline of the register contain-
ing the composition and whose apex ends near the top of the same register. 49 A number of
compositional differences however occur: i) the overall composition changes orientation,
but the king’s gaze always turns towards the left, in the direction of movement; ii) The
number of lions increases, from one to eighteen (strategy of multiplication); iii) the soldiers
are on the chariot, one of whom is beardless, and the lion being trampled by the chariot is a
lioness (strategy of substitution) and lies on her back. 50 Overlooking these differences, one
can readily assert that both scenes are interpictorially related: Ashurbanipal seems to have
reintroduced an old motif that had fallen out of use for two centuries and, apparently, the
meanings associated with it seems in no way changed. Nonetheless, from a pure metaphor-
ical perspective there might be a slight divergence which can be detected from comparing
the royal inscriptions of the two kings. Relying on texts, the straightforward statement
“I am a lion” 51 occurs in Ashurnasirpal II’s texts but it is absent in Ashurbanipal’s texts.
In this statement, the king is not stronger than a lion nor is like a lion, rather the king is a
lion. This is re ected in the relief B-19 from the Northwest Palace, where the lion attacks
the chariot and is positioned in equal posture with the king. According to the rules of
the Image Metaphor theory, because the shape of a lion (source image) is not exactly the
same as the shape of the king (target image), the shapes have been represented in a manner
exible enough to fit in an image mapping; that is, the shapes have been represented in a
manner that is more topological than picture-like, topological in the sense of generalizing
over specific geometric shapes. Such a device allowed artists to map the shape of the lion
onto the king. In Ashurbanipal’s texts, instead, there is no metaphorical description of
the king in terms of a lion. In fact, the sentence referring to the relationship between the
king and the lion “kings among mankind (and) lions among the animals could not grow
powerful before my bow” associates the lions to the enemies and vice versa rather than to
47 Ibid., 441–442; Ead. 2002, 78–79.

48 Meuszyoski 1981, pl. 2.
49 Albenda 1998, 19–20.
50 As mentioned above, according to the formalistic system of categorisation proposed by Heyde-
mann, the strategy of substitution is the most frequent strategy of representation, whose main char-
acteristic is the substitution of a figure, genre, materiality or style with another one (Heydemann
2015, 18).
51 RIMA 2 A.0.101.1: i33.
the king. 52 This is also visually expressed in the relief. In fact, on slabs 13–14 from Room C,
the king is surrounded by a high number of lions which may stand for a high number of
enemy kings; the lions before the king and the chariot do not attack but escape, thus they
lose power, they cannot grow powerful, as happens in battle scenes from other reliefs of
the North Palace. 53 Therefore, according again to the Image Metaphor theory, the mental
image of the escaping lions (source image) is mapped onto the mental image of the escap-
ing enemy (target image) rather than of the hunting king. In this sense, the number of the
lions represented on these slabs acquires more significance: Elnathan Weissert has pointed
out that the number of lions (eighteen) may correspond to the eighteen gates in the wall
surrounding Nineveh; as a consequence, the pursued and killed lions evoke the harmful
enemies at the eighteen city gates, with the king representing the protector of his people,
the very good shepherd. 54
In the light of this analysis what emerges is that both Ashurnasirpal II and Ashurba-
nipal’s lion hunt are interpictorially related and clearly represent what we can refer to as
image metaphors, where in one instance the shape and posture of the lion are mapped
onto the king, in the other shape and posture of the lion are mapped onto the pursued
and killed enemy. In both instances, the lion is always identified with the notion of king-
ship and the king’s qualities. However, in Ashurbanipal’s reliefs the king appears stronger
than the lion and not like the lion, and the association with the king seems to have been
even suppressed, because the lion’s role as prey animal is more emphasised. The associa-
tion with the king was simply pushed into the background. This apparent slight differ-
ence has major implications in the semantic of the decoration of Room C. The kind of
image metaphor hitherto analysed may be valid for the slabs of the northeast wall of room
C, but cannot be properly applied to the lion hunting episodes displayed on the slabs of
the southwest wall. In fact, as much as Ashurnasirpal II’s relief B-19, shape and posture of
the lion (source image) depicted on slabs 20–25 (fig. 5) from Room C are mapped onto the
king (target image): the image metaphors have their basis in and re ect physical similarity
between the attacking lion and the attacking king, in order to identify the features of the
king to those of the lion. Accordingly, on the southwest wall, the king is identified with
the lion, while on the northeast wall the lion is identified with the enemy. This observa-
tion leads me to reappraise the composition of Room C. Although it seems reasonable the
idea that two separate lion hunt events are amalgamated here, I believe that two different
roles of the king and two different metaphors of the lion hunt were shown in the room:
the northeast wall displayed the king as exemplar shepherd, who appears stronger than
any wild force, able to hunt the enemy, ward off any evil threat, and protect his ock; the
southwest wall exhibited the king and the lion as equal, that is to say as associated by the
same features and qualities, thus the king was exalted on this wall as excellent hunter.
In sum, image metaphors allow us to understand that the multiple facets of signif-
icances attributed to the lion in the royal context were visually conveyed to the viewer
52 RINAP 5 9: i29.
53 See, for instance, Barnett 1976, pl. III.
54 Weissert 1997, 350–356.
through the general shape of the lion mapped by artists onto the king. Moreover, what
determines the exact meaning of the lion hunt is the context, which provides a frame for
the metaphoric meanings to be expressed successfully.
Conclusions
The above discussed cases of transmission of specific motifs during the reign of Ashur-
banipal plainly reveal the keen interest of this king in the past by the analysis and con-
sequential active appropriation of old views, perceptions and ideas. But the variations
or differences between source model and new result highlighted in the previous pages
cannot be regarded as mistakes, since, in addition to being systematic, they were obvi-
ously intentional, and actually expressions of creativity. Ashurbanipal’s artists, indeed,
did not adopt and follow passively old thematic subjects to be applied onto new uses and
demands: the reliefs analysed were neither copy, nor clumsy nor innovative imitation. As
pointed out at the beginning of this work, the term interpictoriality does not imply any
moral judgement, prejudice or estimation dictated by the old conceptions of Kopienkritik
(“copy criticism”). 55 I would rather argue that Ashurbanipal’s art expressed a strong will
for innovation but proportionally marked by archaism, through the study of models of
the past and inspiration taken from them. The entangled link between archaism, or tra-
dition, and creativity seems rather to have been a distinctive element of Ashurbanipal’s
art. The study of the meaning of images and pictures, and their related metaphors, shows
in fact that when specific conceptual or image metaphors migrated through time pro-
cesses of inventio were systematically adopted, with the consequence that past forms of
expression underwent the praxis of re-interpretation of selected inspiring ancient models.
Thus, the creativity of Ashurbanipal’s art operated within the praxis or procedure of re-
interpreting earlier works – in particular from the reign of Ashurnasirpal II – and their
tradition and metaphorical meanings.
The reasons lying behind the choice of Ashurbanipal’s artists of drawing inspiration
from past examples can be apparently twofold. It is clear from texts, but also from reliefs,
that Ashurbanipal acquainted himself with literature and science, including divination
55 At the end of the nineteenth and for more than a three-quarters of a century the so-called Kopienk-
ritik was the dominant methodological approach to Roman sculptures, which treated as axiomatic
the proposition that such sculptures consisted mostly of copies of Greek works by famous masters.
This approach was later refined and scholars introduced terms like “free copy” and Idealplastik to
designate sculptures that are not thought to be exact copies of a Greek model but are neoclassical
works inspired by a number of earlier Greek compositions. Also terms from the Roman literature
were then borrowed to describe the Roman sculpture. In particular, the literary interpretatio (direct
translation of one source) was the ‘exact’ or ‘true copy’; the imitatio (interpretation based on more
than a source) was the ‘free copy’; the aemulatio (a new work to compete with previous source works)
was the ‘ideal sculpture’ (Gazda 2002, 4–8). It was arguably the principle of aemulatio, namely signs
of innovation, that was ignored by the practitioners of the Kopienkritik, with the consequence that
it made Roman art invisible (Perry 2005, 4, 78–84).
and mathematics. 56 He claims to have mastered Akkadian and even Sumerian, a dead lan-
guage mostly restricted in use to highly qualified scholars. 57 It is known that he built up a
comprehensive library in Nineveh, where he employed Assyrian and Babylonian scholars
at his court and collected a number of tablets that had been owned by his predecessors: his
broad aim was to unite all traditional written knowledge inherited from earlier times. 58
Thus, Ashurbanipal’s profile appears more literate than most of his predecessors and was
certainly very sensitive to the past. Besides this aspect, inspiration from past artistic ex-
pressions may have been led by other less evident explanations. There seems to have been
a careful analysis and selection of old traditions, most likely driven by the scribal and
intellectual group. Some motifs were certainly well-established in the Assyrian icono-
graphic tradition, thus their “repetition” must be seen as a cultural Assyrian benchmark.
However, Ashurnasirpal II in particular appears to have represented the most prominent
model for later artists: for sure, the reiterated use of the Northwest Palace at Kalhu and
the endless exposure of its interior decoration to any viewer of any epoch might have laid
the foundation of a “copying” or inspirational phenomenon. The admiration for the glo-
rious past of such an ancestor may have sparked a kind of “competitive race” with the
consequence that any process of reinterpretation was sensitized and emboldened by an
incipient mechanism of aemulatio.
To conclude, precisely because of this strong tradition, Ashurbanipal’s period was hy-
perinterpictorial or was practiced in a hyper-interpictorial mode – paraphrasing Laboury –
with the consequence that any copying and inspirational phenomenon was actually inte-
gral to the creative process itself. 59 Interpictoriality thus represents a very suitable tool to
investigate the mechanism of “migrating images” along with “migrating metaphors.” In
fact, relying on the discussion in my introduction of the differences, at least in English and
other modern languages, between picture – the material object – and image – the abstract
thing – the interpictorial analysis I have presented points to the life and dynamism of im-
ages that survive in pictures. As a corollary, while pictures can be killed/destroyed, images
survive.
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The Si nificance of the Embrace Metaphor
in the Inscription KARKAMIŠ A 21
Claudia Posani (Università degli Studi di Torino)
The aim of this paper is to identify the metaphorical significance of the embrace meta-
phor as it appears in the hieroglyphic Luwian inscription KARKAMIŠ A 21. To better
understand the embrace metaphor, the analysis is carried out from both a textual and an
iconographic perspective, also taking into account the embrace scenes that are widespread
in the Hittite iconography of the II millennium BC (the so-called Umarmungsszenen).
As a result, it is argued that the common translation of the royal title AMPLECTI-mi,
which occurs in KARKAMIŠ A 21 1, as ‘Loved’ (by a deity), needs to be changed in
‘Embraced’ (by a deity). 1
Introduction
Before focusing on the analysis of the metaphor, some preliminary considerations about
the methodological approach to metaphors are required. An overall and detailed study of
metaphors in the Near Eastern world in general has not yet been carried out. In regard to
the Anatolian world, some recent studies are devoted to metaphors in Hittite historical
texts and treaties. 2 With regard to hieroglyphic Luwian texts, some studies are devoted to
literary topoi, 3 or to aspects of rhetoric of some specific inscriptions, 4 but research focused
on metaphors in the Neo-Hittite Corpus has yet to be done.
Metaphor is indeed an extremely complex topic. Metaphors do not only represent lin-
guistic processes, but also mental ones, and they are involved in the human knowledge of
the world and in the way of representing it conceptually. As such, they arise from sensory
1 I am grateful to Ilya akubovich and to the organizers of the workshop “Researching Metaphor in
the Ancient Near East: Perspectives from Texts and Images”, Ludovico Portuese and Marta Pal-
lavidini, for the useful suggestions they gave me when I presented this paper at the 65th Rencontre
Assyriologique Internationale “Gods, Kings and Capitals in the Ancient Near East”, Paris, on July
12th, 2019. All the responsibility for the content of this article is exclusively mine.
2 Pallavidini 2017 and 2018.
3 Cf. Simon 2011.
4 Cf. Payne 2015, 171–177.
DOI: 10.13173/9783447114370.141
142 Claudia Posani
representations, and are universally widespread. Some differentiations in the formation of

metaphors could appear only secondarily, at a cultural level.
Moreover, metaphors connect mental images and linguistic structures: how this pro-
cess happens, and which of these two symbolic structures is primarily involved in the
formation of thought, is the subject of broad philosophical debate.
In the present analysis, the theoretical approach of the conceptual metaphor 5 is
adopted: according to this approach, peculiar to cognitive linguistics, 6 the processes of
thoughts themselves are already highly metaphorical and are at the basis of the mecha-
nisms of knowledge. Accordingly to this approach, an attempt is therefore made in this
paper to provide possible explanations of the extensions of meaning generated by the met-
aphorical mechanisms, in order to reconstruct which conceptual world emerges from the
sources object of analysis and to better understand the cultures that produced them.
In addition, the peculiarity of the texts written in a hieroglyphic writing system should
be underlined: 7 the visual aspect of the signs, in fact, may sometimes enrich the relationship
between linguistic and imaginative levels, in the concentration proper to the word-image.
nscition
The inscription KARKAMIŠ A 21 is carved in relief on two adjoining basalt orthostats. 8

They were found in situ in the Great Staircase of Karkemiš, as part of the South-East wall
of entrance to the Gatehouse, and were removed for dispatch to England. The orthostat
b shows a damaged image of a ruler, probably Astirus II, 9 son of Sasturas. He is depicted
facing right, with the left arm stretched out, clasping two rods in his hand. On the ortho-
stat a, a 4-winged figure is carved. This too is represented facing right, and wears a short
kilt with a long, fringed, embroidered over-skirt. This figure holds a siren-handled bucket
in its right hand.
The execution of the high reliefs of the Gatehouse at the Great Staircase is very so-
phisticated. 10 In 1981, Orthmann assigned these reliefs to the đSpäthethitisch IIIb“ phase,
specifically to the đKarkemiš V“ style. 11 This implies a chronological attribution to about
5 Ervas and Gola 2016, 26–30.

6 Cognitive linguistics was created in the United States in the 1970s, mainly by George Lakoff, Ron-
ald Langacker and Leonard Talmy: the publication, in 1980, of the book Metaphors We Live By, by
G. Lakoff and M. Johnson, inaugurates a new approach to the study of metaphors (cf. Ervas and
Gola 2016, 26).
7 See Marazzi 2010, 233–251.
8 Hawkins 2000, plates 48–49. For the following general information about the inscription (descrip-
tion, discovery, content) cf. Hawkins 2000, 157–159.
9 The name, reconstructed from the fragments associated with this text, could be Astiru: cf. fragment
1, l.1: á-sa-ti-ru; thus, this ruler could be identified with Astiru(was) II: cf. Hawkins 2000, 162, Frag.
1, l.1.
10 Gilibert 2011, 37.
11 Orthmann 1971, 35–36; Hawkins 2000, 79; Gilibert 2011, 37.
The Significance of the Embrace Metaphor in the Inscription KARKAMIŠ A 21 143
the middle of the 8th Century BC (but the problem of dating of the Astirus II sculptures
is still open: 12 however, they can be dated to the middle or the end of the 8th Century
BC). From a stylistic point of view, the association of the ruler’s image with genius figures
performing lustral rituals recalls Assyrian models; 13 the same also applies to the garment
details and hairstyle. Already in 1972, S. Mazzoni 14 noted that some stylistic patterns, as
those of the gryphon images originated in Assyria during the reign of Assurnasirpal II,
appeared in the Neo-Hittite states according to the model developed in Assyria during
the reign of Sargon II.
The 8-line inscription KARKAMIŠ A 21 is placed behind the ruler’s figure; the text
must have had an initial part on a lost element on the right; on the left the inscription
continued on slab a, where only lines 5 to 8 are preserved. Obviously, the condition of the
supports makes it difficult to read the text; nevertheless, some fragments related to the
inscription enable to restore part of text. 15 Moreover, the forms and orthography of the
signs are featured by late conscious archaism. 16
The text represents a kind of “autobiography” of the author. His name and titles are
followed by a section devoted to his promotion by his father, and by a section celebrating
his promotion by the goddess Kubaba. Afterwards, one section mentions the benefits by
the goddess Kubaba; the next two parts are devoted to the relationships between Kubaba
and the ruler’s ancestors and between Kubaba and the author. The last preserved section
is incomplete, and makes reference to the author and his father.
Lexical analysis
1 l.1 17 ... ] HEROS kar-ka-mi-sà(URBS) MAx(REGIO) REGIO.

DOMINUS (DEUS)ku[+AVIS] AMPLECTI-mi ||
[I (am) ... ] the Hero, the Country-Lord of the city
Karkemiš and the Ma(lizi) (?)-land, beloved of Kubaba.
In his self-presentation, at 1, line 1, the author is designated (DEUS)ku[+AVIS] AM-

PLECTI-mi: which Luwian word underlies the logogram AMPLECTI is not known.
This logogram has been alternatively considered equivalent either to the verb aza- ‘to
love’ -preceded by the determinative (LITUUS)-, or to the verb wasa(nu)- ‘to be good,
dear’, used in this case as an alternative to the common logogram BONUS. 18 Currently,
12 See Hawkins, Tosun and Akdo an 2013, 5.

13 Gilibert 2011, 37–38.
14 Mazzoni 1972, 193–194.
15 Hawkins 2000, 159, 162–163.
16 Hawkins 2000, 158–162; Gilibert 2011, 37.
17 Transliteration and translation according to Hawkins 2000, 160.
18 Cf. Hawkins 2000, 559 1.
144 Claudia Posani
the most accepted explanation is that the underlying verb form could be (LITUUS)aza-
‘to love’: consequently, AMPLECTI-mi should be translated as ‘beloved’. An analysis of
the following sections of the text can help to attempt a different explanation of this verb.
After the titles section, reference is made to the special relationship between the ruler
and the goddess Kubaba: at 3, line 3, according to the restoration provided by Frag-
ment 2, line 1, 19 it is stated that the goddess “extended the hand (to) the hand.” 20 This part
of the text is placed exactly in correspondence with the representation of the hand of the
ruler, producing a sort of visual “joke.” In fact, the two words employed for ‘hand’, writ-
ten respectively in phonetic form and as logogram with phonetic complement, surround
the image of the hand of the author, which is clearly visible in the centre, near the name
of Kubaba.
Furthermore, at 5, line 5, it is also possible to restore the second line of Fragment 2
wa/i-ta OMNIS-mi before the verb AMPLECTI-nú-ta, with a short lacuna in between.
The resulting translation of this clause should then be “And all […] she caused to embrace
[me(?)]”, followed by 6, “who (were) not dear to me.” Thus, at 5–6 reference is made to
the excellent relationships established by Kubaba 21 between the ruler and those who were
previously hostile to him.
3 l.3 [[...]] 22 (MANUS)]i-sa-ta[ra/i?]-na 23 (DEUS)ku+AVIS

MANUS-tara/i ARHA i+a-t[á
4 l.4 ... || ...]*190.THRONUS tá-ti mi-i za4-la SOLIUM-nú-tá
5 l.5 wa/i-ta OMNIS-mi 24 ||[...]AMPLECTI-nú-ta
6 l.5 NEG+a-pa-wa/i-mu REL-zi BONUS[...]
Kubaba ... extended 25 the hand to the hand, 26 [and me(?)]
she(?) caused to sit on my paternal throne. And all [...]
she(?) caused to embrace [me(?)], who (were) not dear to me.
The subject and the object of the action of embracing in this sentence are not syntacti-
cally clear. 27 The sense should be the following: thanks to the goddess, the ruler can now
19 On the joints to 3 and 5 given by fragment 2: cf. Hawkins 2000, 162–163.

20 The syntactical case of the name of Kubaba is not clear, so the text can also be translated “He
(the author’s father) extended (my) hand to Kubaba’s hand”: cf. Yakubovich EDIANA, visited on
2020–01–11.
21 Accepting the reasonable hypothesis that Kubaba is the subject of the proposition in 5.
22 To avoid confusion between incomplete quotations and broken/missing and restored signs, incom-
plete quotations are marked by two square brackets [[...]], broken/missing and restored signs are
marked by singles square brackets [...].
23 (MANUS)]i-sa-ta[ra/i?]-na: the word is preserved in Fragment 2, line 1: cf. Hawkins 2000, 163 3.
24 wa/i-ta OMNIS-mi: this part of text is preserved in Fragment 2, line 2: cf. Hawkins 2000, 163 5.
25 For the meaning of the verb, cf. akubovich EDIANA, visited on 2020–01–11.
26 Or: “[He] extended (my) hand to Kubaba’s hand”: cf. akubovich EDIANA, visited on 2020–01–11.
27 Melchert seems to prefer the interpretation according to which the king is the object of the action:
cf. Melchert 2011, 78–79.
embrace those who were not dear to him, or they can embrace him. Reasonably, the text
is meant to convey the idea of a king that embraces the inhabitants of Karkemiš in a pro-
tective way, as the goddess embraces and protects him.
The verb in this clause is normally translated as ‘to embrace’ (with causative force) and
I agree that such a translation is more relevant in this context than a generic ‘to love’. In
addition, I think that this translation should also be applied to the title in 1, especially
since there does not seem to be any relation between the verb aza- and the logogram AM-
PLECTI (as argued by Marazzi in 1990 28 and confirmed by Gerard in 2004 29). In fact, the
participle azamis requires the name of the deity in ablative-instrumental case, whereas
AMPLECTI-mi requires the name of the deity in genitive case.
In KARKAMIŠ A 21 1, the name of the goddess Kubaba is only partially complete,
but it seems that it has no specific case ending.
In KARKAMIŠ A 13c 1, the participle AMPLECTI-mi[...] is preceded by the genitive
form (DEUS)ku-AVIS-s[a?]: according to Hawkins, 30 the use of genitive instead of ablative
may demand a restoration of the word SERVUS after the participle AMPLECTI-mi-sa.
This restoration is based on the comparison with 1 of the BEIRUT bowl, where the gen-
itive of the god Santas is followed by the participle AMPLECTI-mi-sa and by the noun
SERVUS-la/i. However, the presence in KARKAMIŠ A 13c 1 of a sign interpreted as the
personal marker after the participle is in contrast with the proposed restoration.
In the archaic inscription KIZILDAG 4 1 the use of a mostly logographic script
makes it impossible to identify any morphological aspect.
For syntactical reasons, and taking into account the stylistic patterns of the text in
which the same verb occurs two times, I would then consistently prefer to translate the
title of the ruler as ‘embraced’ by Kubaba instead of as ‘beloved’ of Kubaba.
Furthermore, from a semantic perspective, the verb ‘to embrace’ seems to have a con-
crete sense and a strong visual power which cannot be found in the abstract translation ‘to
love’. Besides, the embrace scene is of ancient literary origins: an extraordinary example
is offered in the Epic of Gilgameš, when the hero and Enkidu embrace each other after
fighting. At the level of imagery, the embrace scenes are characterized by strong bodily
intensity, which should not to be lost in the translation. Thus, to better understand the
value of the metaphorical expression in analysis, comparison with iconographic embrace
scenes of the Hittite Empire period may provide further elements.
28 Marazzi 1990, 94.

29 Gerard 2004, 306–307.
30 Hawkins 2000, 168 1.
146 Claudia Posani
Umarmungsszene
A summary of the embrace scenes represented on Hittite seals and reliefs is provided
below. 31
In one of his seals, Muwatalli II is depicted embraced by the Storm-God of Heaven. 32
In the seal impressions on the bullae of Niantepe, the tuḫkanti Ur i-Teššub is de-
picted embraced by Šarruma. 33 This is the only variant of the embrace scene, featuring a
tuḫkanti: this kind of innovation can be explained by the Muwatalli II’s political will to
ensure the throne for his son, as convincingly argued by S. Herbordt. 34 Once becoming
king, Ur i-Teššub / Mursili III appears on a seal embraced by the Storm-God. 35
Tut aliya IV is often depicted as embraced by a deity: in the seal impression RS 17.159,
the king Tuthaliya (most probably Tuthaliya IV) is embraced by the Storm-God, 36 in the
seal impressions on the Niantepe bullae Tuthaliya (again, most probably Tuthaliya IV),
appears as embraced by a deity. 37 In the famous relief of room B of Yazilikaya, he is em-
braced by the god Šarruma. 38
The Umarmungsszene, as well as the king’s garments, which often resemble those of
the gods, have been interpreted as ways of emphasizing the religious role of the king and
his special relationship with the deity. 39
Not all scholars recognize the abovementioned scenes as Umarmungsszenen. 40 Klengel’s
analysis, in particular, discusses the features of the peace treaty stipulated between Hat-
tusili III and Ramses II: the Egyptian version of this treaty contains a description of the
seal impressions on the silver tablet sent to the Pharao by Hattusili III. In the middle of the
recto and of the verso of the tablet, the seal impressions represented Hattusili III embraced
by the Storm-God and his wife Puduhepa embraced by the Sun goddess of Arinna. 41
The Egyptian term designating this embrace -qnj- refers to an action with both arms,
which could be performed by both partners. As highlighted by the scholar, Egyptians
could conceive a real embrace between a divine partner and the Pharao, since the Pharao
31 On all the mentioned scenes and for a detailed discussion on their interpretation, see de Martino
2010 (in particular 88–91), with further bibliography.
32 See Singer 2006, 50 fig. 6; Herbordt 2006, 208 fig. 134.
33 See Herbordt 2005, 71 fig. 46 a-d.
34 Herbordt 2005, 69–71.
35 See Singer 2006, 57 fig. 21.
36 See Ensert 2006, 108 fig. 1a.
37 See Herbordt 2006, 207 fig. 130–131; 208 fig. 133.
38 See Singer 2006, 50 fig. 7.
39 On this topic see de Martino 2010.
40 See Klengel 2002, 208–209. G. Paradiso makes a distinction between the embrace scenes and scenes
related to the gesture of holding by the hand. She considers the “holding by the wrist” a variant of
the latter, but in fact considers the seal impression of Muwatalli II, those of Ur i-Teššub/Mursili III
and the relief of Tuthaliya IV in Chamber B of the Yazilikaya sanctuary as representative of both
categories (Paradiso 2019, 147–148).
41 Devecchi 2015, 54.
was considered a deity, 42 but this was unacceptable in the Hittite world. In Klengel’s opin-
ion, the Hittite iconography does not represent an embrace, but only a scene in which the
god holds the king by the hand (more precisely by his wrist). Doing so, the deity puts his
arm around the shoulders of the king: thus, it could seem to be an embrace scene, but
the focus is put on the hand. At a symbolic level, this gesture implies that the god guides
and protects the king. Accordingly, Klengel argues that the written sources confirm this
interpretation, since the expression “hold by the hand” occurs often in the texts, starting
from Mursili II’ kingdom (the expression being particularly emphasized in the so-called
“Autobiography” of Hattusili III). 43
In my opinion, Klengel’s analysis could be partially revised, since the gesture of the
deity surrounding the person of the king with his arm, even without reciprocity, has its
own strong value.
However, to return to the Neo-Hittite world and to the metaphor in analysis, when
hieroglyphic Luwian texts convey the image of raising the king by the hand (e.g. in
KARKAMIŠ A23 3, where it is stated that the goddess Kubaba “raised by the hand”
the king Katuwas) the logogram AMPLECTI is not used. Conversely, the inscription
KARKAMIŠ A21 first provides an expression related to the hand ( 3), and after one
expression related to the action of embracing ( 5 [...]AMPLECTI-nú-ta). Thus, to better
understand the metaphor in question, some further elements can be provided by the sub-
sequent clauses of the inscription in analysis.
Textual Metaphor in Context
After a section devoted to Kubaba and the ancestors, we find at 10 another metaphor:
10 l.7 44 wa i-ma-sa tá-ti i-zi

and she became (a) father to me.
This metaphor recalls that in 6 of INEK inscription: 45
6 REL-p[a]-wa/i-mu-u |su+ra/i-wa/i-ni-sa(URBS) |REX-ti-sá

|su+ra/i-wa/i-za-ha(URBS) |DOMUS-na-za |ta-ni-ma-za
|tá-[ti-sa MATER-sa-ha] (||) i-zi-ia-si
And so the king of the Assyrians and the entire house of Assur
became fa[ther and mother] to me.
42 Klengel 2002, 206.

43 Klengel 2002, 208–210.
44 Cf. Melchert 2011, 78.
45 Transliteration and translation according to Payne 2012, 42–44.
148 Claudia Posani
A similar pattern occurs also in KARATEPE 1, 46 3 and 18:
3Hu 12–17 wa/i-mu-u (DEUS)TONITRUS-hu-za-sa á-TANA-wa i-

||ia(URBS) MATER-na-tí-na tá-ti-ha i-zi-i-tà
3Ho 12–17 wá í-mu [ ...]-za-sa [...
Tarhunzas made me mother and father to Adanawa. 47
18Hu 85–94 [ … … ] [i-zi]-i-[ta] |á-[mi]-ia-ti |IUSTITIA-na-ti |á-mi-ia+ra/i-

ha |(“COR”)á-ta-na-sa-ma-ti |á-mi-ia+ra i-há || |(“BONUS”)sa-
na-wa/i-sa-tara/i-ti
18Ho 85–94 OMNIS-MI-sa-ha-wa/i-mu-ti-i REX-ti-sa |tá-ti-na |i-zi-tà |á-mi-
tí|IUSTITIA-na-ri+i |á-mi-ia+ra i-há |“COR<”>-ta-na-sa-ma-
ri+i |á-mi+ra i-ha |(“BONUS”)sa-na-wa i-sa-tara i-tí
And every king made me his father because of my justice and
wisdom and goodness.
Another similar metaphor occurs also in KULULU 4, 11:
11 l.3 48 OMNIS-ma-si-sa4-ha-wa/i-mi tá-ti-sa4 á-sa8-ha

And I was every man’s father.
All these metaphors are strongly linked with the concept of family and protection (ex-
pressed by a scheme from top to bottom). As a father is disposed towards a son, so are
the deities towards the king (KARKAMIŠ A21), the Assyrian king towards the subor-
dinate ruler ( INEK ), the ruler towards the country and, of course, its inhabitants
(KARATEPE 1), the king’s servant towards the other men (KULULU 4). Conversely, in
KARATEPE 1, 18, the parental relationship is established between Azatiwatas and the
other kings (who theoretically were superior to him). In this case, the rhetorical pattern is
aimed at emphasizing the exceptional nature of Azatiwatas and his extraordinary moral
skills (in fact, the text attributes the ‘choice’ in toto to the kings themselves: “And every
king made me for himself a father ... ”).
Furthermore, when reference is made to a deity, it is clearly aimed at expressing legit-
imacy: in the case of the inscription in analysis, as in the inscription KARATEPE 1 3,
this legitimacy is ‘internal’: namely, it comes from a national divinity. 49
Continuing with the analysis of KARKAMIŠ A21, 11–12 50 seem to concern the
growing up of the author of the inscription:
46 Transliteration and translation according to Payne 2012, 20–42.

47 According to the traditional reading of the place name (since it is not the purpose of this paper to get
into the broad and still open discussion about this topic).
48 Transliteration and translation according to Hawkins (Hawkins 2000, 445).
49 Lanfranchi 2007, 207.
50 Transliteration according to Hawkins (Hawkins 2000, 160).
11 ll.7–8 wa/i-mu INFANS-[x] REL-ti || |˹(x)˺ti-i+a-ta

12 l. 8 MAGNUS-i+a[... REL?...]
and she (Kubaba) watched over me like a child, 51 adult...
Unfortunately, the fragmentary condition of the text makes it impossible a complete our
understanding of this passage. However, the text seems to offer a further childhood and
protection image, expressed by a rhetorical pattern linked with the passage of time and
growing up. In this case, the divine protection shown towards the king when he was a
child seems to be repeated in his adulthood. The king is accompanied by the protective
glance 52 of the goddess throughout his life. Once more, the relationship between the king
and the goddess is expressed by bodily and sensory images.
Conclusions
According to the previous discussion, it is possible to develop some observations. In fact,

some thematic links can be found between the images suggested by the text.
First, both the expressions at 10 and at 11 “and she became (a) father to me and
watched over me like a child” are connected with the topic of parenthood.
Second, there is a link between the title which occurs at 1, (DEUS)ku[+AVIS] AM-
PLECTI-mi, that in my opinion should be translated as “embraced by Kubaba”, and the
verb which occurs at 5, AMPLECTI-nú-ta: in the latter, the subject and the object of the
action are not clear. If one accepts that the subject is the king, then he embraces Karkemiš’
inhabitants, perhaps even his opponents, in the same way as the goddess embraces him. In
any case, the embrace image seems to be used to express a protective metaphor. Addition-
ally, at an imaginary level, it is difficult to imagine such an embrace scene, involving the
king and many people, differently than acted with both arms.
The conscious employment of the same images at 1 and 5 serves the purpose of
providing a specific idea of what a king must be: the “perfect” king must act towards his
subjects as the deity acts towards him, namely, he must act as a re ex of the deity, most of
all protecting his subjects and taking care of them. The underlying idea of kingship is that
the king is in the middle between gods and humans, as represented in the seals and reliefs
of the late Hittite Empire period.
Taking into account this metaphoric meaning of the iconographic embrace scenes,
and the observations made about the use of specific stylistic patterns in KARKAMIŠ
A 21 inscription, I think that the title AMPLECTI-mi has a peculiar visual force which
should distinguish it from a generic meaning like ‘loved’.
51 As concerns the translation of 11 cf. Melchert 2011, 78.

52 On the proposal to identify the determinative logogram (OCULUS) in the damaged sign that
precedes the verb ti-i+a-ta, cf. Hawkins 2000, 161–162, 11.
150 Claudia Posani
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Metaphors and Conceptual Metaphors
in the Mesopotamian Medical Texts
Silvia Salin (Università degli Studi di Verona)
Introduction
In general, it might be said that medical metaphors are meant to express pain – both phys-
ical and emotional – by relating concepts, objects or social experiences either with the sick
body (or some of its parts) or with illness in general. In other words, they have the purpose
of render understandable to the others the pain felt by the patient, basing their words on
bodily experience. Defined by the Italian anthropologist G. Pizza as a “social action”, 1
metaphor “uses everyday language – inadequate to express the suffering body – in order
to place the sick person in his (or her) social context.” 2
The use of metaphors in medicine is well attested for many cultures, past and present.
As far as ancient Mesopotamia is concerned, it might be said that, in contrast to what
happens in literary texts, in the medical ones we can find just a few metaphors per se.
If anything, the cuneiform tablets relating to medicine offer what have been called by
linguists G. Lakoff and M. Johnson as conceptual metaphors. 3 In their opinion, they are
part of everybody’s daily life, and belong to our language, thoughts and actions. Indeed,
these scholars explain mind and meaning as embodied, and metaphors as representing the
linguistic expression of “pre-conceptual image schemata” of our society. Although Meso-
potamian medical texts – both therapeutic and diagnostic – should be considered as sort
of handbooks written by and for professionals – whose purpose was to make available to
the healers (asû e āšipu) a large series of signs and symptoms, recipes and rituals useful for
curing the patient, and not to express the suffering and pain of the victim – they offer a
copious amount of conceptual metaphors, which should be considered as the mirror of
many aspects of the Assyro-Babylonian culture.
The purpose of this paper – part of a wider study concerning terms and expressions
describing individual suffering in ancient Mesopotamia – is to offer an overview of the
most interesting metaphors and conceptual metaphors by examining in particular the
1 See Pizza 2011.

2 Salin 2018, 196.
3 See Lakoff and Johnson 1980.
DOI: 10.13173/9783447114370.153
154 Silvia Salin
Assyro-Babylonian medical texts, dating back to the end of the II and the first half of the
I millennium BCE.
Metaphors and Conceptual Metaphors on Pain
Pain is generally one of the first features considered by the medical professionals in order
to recognize what kind of disease is affecting the patient; it could be of many and various
kinds, be either constant or sporadic, and have different degrees of intensity. It has been
defined by The International Association for the Study of Pain as “an unpleasant sensory
and emotional experience associated with actual or potential tissue damage, or described
in terms of such damage.” 4 Aware of the impossibility to share personal pain with anoth-
er human being, anthropologists have underlined the huge distance between those who
actually feel pain and the others. 5 Indeed, “to feel the same pain as another would require
that we became that person, which is of course impossible.” 6 Nonetheless, the sufferer
needs to communicate his (or her) pain, be it of physical or emotional nature, and he does
it through the use of stories. These stories are normally full of metaphors, whose purpose
is to tell, explain and interpret the pain he (or she) feels, and “sono sempre prese in una tri-
angolazione fra dimensione individuale, dimensione sociale e processo storico.” 7 Basing
their words on bodily experience, these particular figures of speech render understanda-
ble to the others what is usually unintelligible, because of its subjective nature.
As already mentioned in the introduction of this paper, despite the difficulty of ex-
pressing pain, metaphors per se relating to pain are not frequently used in Mesopotamian
medical tablets. As far as I know, some of the few examples of this kind might be found in
those therapeutic texts concerning the stinging (or piercing) pain:
(1) DIŠ NA di-ik-šá TUKU-ma ki-ma ṣil-le-e ú-dàk-k[as-su] 8 ŠU.GIDIM.MA

If a man has a piercing pain and it stings him like a thorn, “Hand of ghost.” 9
In the last example the type of pain perceived by the patient is clearly explained by the
metaphor “it stings him like a thorn”, using the verb dakāšu (‘to sting’) and the noun ṣillû
(‘thorn’).
4 For an in-depth analysis cf. http://www.iasp-pain.org/Taxonomy.

5 Among others, see, for instance, Allué 1999, 119: “Nous pouvons, peut-être, partager la souffrance
des gens que nous aimons, nous pouvons angoisser et nous sentir impuissants face à la souffrance
d’autrui parce que nous ne pouvons rien faire pour les soulager. Mais pour saisir l’intensité de la
douleur de l’autre, il faut devenir l’autre. (…). Il est impossible de partager la douleur physique. Cette
douleur-là est personnelle et non partageable.”
6 Salin 2018, 196.
7 Pizza 2011, 103.
8 For a different interpretation see the BabMed website : http://www.geschkult.fu-berlin.de/e/
babmed/Corpora/BAM-3/BAM-3_-216.
9 BAM III 216, ll. 29’-30’. See Scurlock and Andersen 2005, 289, Text no. 13.31.
Metaphors and Conceptual Metaphors in the Mesopotamian Medical Texts 155
More often medical texts offer something different, and this might be explained by
observing the kind of texts here analyzed. As already mentioned in the introduction,
both diagnostic and therapeutic texts – which, respectively, offer brief descriptions of
symptoms followed by the diagnosis and sometimes a prognosis, and which offer differ-
ent kinds of prescriptions, in some cases followed by prayers, incantations, and/or the
instructions for ceremonial rituals – should be considered as sort of manuals written by
and for professionals. As a matter of fact, they aim to collect long lists of signs and symp-
toms, therapies and recipes useful to cure the patient, and not to tell how the person feels.
Besides few cases, like that showed above, Mesopotamian medical texts might offer what
Lakoff and Johnson call “conceptual metaphors.” This kind of metaphors could concern
the misfortunes and adversities occurred to the patient (even though it must be remind-
ed that they have standardized formulas in which all the possible sins committed by the
patient are listed), all the procedures that witch and warlock may have used to transmit
diseases and/or for causing the removal of the protective deity, and still a long series of
signs, symptoms and diseases that have affected the victim.
The conceptual metaphors relating to disease and pain experienced by the patient –
typical of the technical language of the medical professionals, asû and āšipu – clearly in-
dicate certain aspects of the Assyro-Babylonian culture, which, in some cases, might be
considered very similar to the concepts of our own way of thinking. For instance, one of
the most typical conceptual metaphors found in Mesopotamian medical texts is illness
is a (ravenous) person, where – using verbs like ‘to eat’ and ‘to gnaw’ – illness is consid-
ered as someone eating the patient’s body. As a matter of fact, besides their most common
meanings, the verbs akālu 10 and kasāsu 11 might be used in order to describe the person’s suf-
fering, and they could be rendered as ‘to devour’, and ‘to consume, to trouble’, respectively.
Some examples from both diagnostic and therapeutic texts follow:
(2) [DIŠ SA.M]EŠ uzuÚR-šú ištē-niš GU7.MEŠ-šú ZI-a u DU.MEŠ-ka lā i-le-‘e-‘e

SA.GAL [MU.NI]
[If the musc]les of his thigh devour him all at once, he cannot stand up or walk
about: [it is called] sagallu. 12
(3) [DI]Š NA ina DAB ŠU.GIDIM.MA SAG ŠÀ-šú i-kàs-sa-su (…)

[I]f, as the (result of) affliction by “Hand of ghost”, a man, his epigastrium con-
sumes him, (…). 13
10 CAD A1, 245; AHw, 26.

11 CAD K, 242; AHw, 453.
12 SA.GIG 33: 98. See Heeßel 2000, 363; Scurlock 2014, 240.
13 AMT 76, 1: 15. See Scurlock and Andersen 2005, 287, Text no. 13.22.
156 Silvia Salin
(4) DIŠ NA S[AG.DU-su GU7.GU7-šú] EME-šú ú-zaq-qa-su IGI.MEŠ-š[ú

NIGIN-du GEŠT]U[I]I-šú i-šag-gu-ma (…) [k]im-ṣa-šú G[ÌR II-šú i-kàṣ-ṣa-ṣ]u-šú
(…) NA BI ina NINDA šu-kul ina KAŠ NAG ina Ì ŠEŠ (…)
If a man, [his head keeps devouring him], his tongue causes him stinging pain,
he has [vertigo, his ear]s buzz, (…) [his] legs (and) [his] fe[et consum]e him, (…)
that man has been given (bewitched) bread to eat, has been given (bewitched)
beer to drink, has been anointed with (bewitched) oil. 14
Other conceptual metaphors very similar to those used in modern Western culture are
illness is war and illness is an enemy, where typical are words belonging to the mili-
tary jargon, such as ‘to seize’ (ṣabātu), 15 ‘to fall, to attack, to strike’ (maqātu), 16 ‘to hit, strike’
(mahāṣu) 17 and ‘to overcome’ (kasādu). 18 These verbs are frequently used in both diagnostic
and therapeutic texts, generally denoting strong and violent actions. For instance, ṣabātu
and maqātu are often related to cases of epilepsy and intense seizure, as the following ex-
amples show:
(5) [DIŠ UD L]AL-šú TA iṣ-ṣab-tu-šú ÚḪ ina KA-šú DU-ak ŠU LÍL.LÁ.EN.

NA [D]IŠ UD L[AL]-šú UB.NÍGIN.NA-šú i-šaḫ-ḫu-ḫa ŠÀ-šú DAB.DAB-su
[ŠÀ].MEŠ-šú SI.SÁ.MEŠ-šú ŠU GIDIM7
[If, when (epylepsy) co]mes over him, then it seizes him, saliva flows from his
mouth: “Hand of the Lilû-demon”.
[I]f, when (epylepsy) co]mes over him, his limbs waste away, his abdomen keeps
seizing him, his bowels are continually loose: “Hand of ghost.” 19
(6) [DIŠ D]AB-su ina A[N.US]AN DAB.DAB-su [D]AB GI[DI]M7

[If] his seizu[re] continually seizes him in the night time; seizure of a ghost. 20
(7) DIŠ GÚ-su 15 u 150 ŠUB.ŠUB-di GAM

If his neck continually falls to the right or to the left, he will die. 21
14 AMT 21, 2:1–2, 7, 21–22. See Abusch and Schwemer 2011, 329, Text no. 8.6: 1–2, 7, 21–22.
15 CAD Ṣ, 5–41; AHw, 1066–1071.
16 CAD M1, 240–251; AHw, 695–697.
17 CAD M1, 71–84; AHw, 580–581.
18 CAD K, 271–284; AHw, 459–461.
19 SA.GIG 26: 18’-19’. See Stol 1993, 61; Heeßel 2000, 287; Scurlock 2014, 201.
20 SA.GIG 26: 31’. See Stol 1993, 63: 30; Heeßel 2000, 288: 31’; Scurlock 2014, 202: 31’.
21 SA.GIG 10: 15a. See Labat 1951, 82; Scurlock 2014, 74.
(8) [DIŠ ŠUB-ti ŠUB-su-ma UD ŠUB]-šú an-nu-u šu-ú i-qab-bi b[e-en-nu ṣa]-
⎾idu DAB⏋-[s]u uš-t[e]-⎾zeb⏋
[DIŠ ŠUB-ti ŠUB-su-ma] ina U4.1.KÁM 2-šú 3-šú LAL-šum-ma ina [šer-ti S]A5
ina AN.⎾ÚSAN SIG5⏋AN.⎾TA.ŠUB⏋.BA
[DIŠ ŠUB-ti ŠUB-su-ma ina U4.1.KÁ]M ⎾2⏋-šú 3-šú ⎾DAB-su u i-ri-iq⏋[GÍD-
ma] ina ŠUB-ti TAB.TAB-šú
[If miqtu strikes him, and when it hits him] he says: “This is it!”; the wandering
Bennu-demon seized him. He will come through.
[If miqtu strikes him and] it overcomes (him) two or three times a day, and in
the morning he flushes (and) in the evening he turns pale: AN.TA.ŠUB.BA-
epilepsy.
[If miqtu strikes him and] it seizes him two or three times [a da]y and he turns
pale: [it will last long and] it will begin with miqtu. 22
The verbs mahāṣu and kasādu usually denote something serious, too; if the former might
indicate a very intense touch, injuries caused by a weapon or the “throbbing pain” af-
fecting a specific part of the patient’s body, the latter generally might designate both the
disease ‘overcoming, conquering, defeating’ the victim, and the deities ‘overcoming’ the
patient’s enemies. Some examples from the therapeutic texts follow:
(9) DIŠ MUNUS GIG-ma ŠU II-šá ina SAG.DU-šá GAR-na-ma la ur-ra-da-ni

ŠU EN.ÙR KI.MIN MAŠKIM ÙR SÌG-aṣ UŠ
If a woman is sick and her hands are placed on her head and she does not bring
them down: “Hand of the Lord of the roof.” If DITTO: the rābiṣu of the roof
has struck her. She will die. 23
(10) DIŠ NA SAG.KI-šú RA-su-ma DÙ UZU.MEŠ-šú [G]U7.MEŠ-šú sà-li-i’ qá-

te-er SAG ŠÀ-šú [G]U7 -šú GU7 NAG-ma ut-ta-nar-ra NA BI UŠ11.ZU! DAB-šú
If a man, his temple causes him a throbbing pain and his whole body [con]
tinually devours him, he has a black mood (and) is afflicted, his epigastrium
devours him, he eats (and) drinks, but he continually throws up: this man, the
kišpū-witchcraft has seized him. 24
22 SA.GIG 26: 4’-6’. See Heeßel 2000, 278; Stol 1993, 57: 3–5; Scurlock and Andersen 2005, 318, Text
no. 13.187; Scurlock 2014, 200.
23 SA.GIG 37: 11. See Scurlock and Andersen 2005, 440, Text no. 19.42; Scurlock 2014, 255.
24 BAM 2, 193: 8’-10’. See Abusch and Schwemer 2011, 240, Text no. 7.10: 8’-10’.
158 Silvia Salin
(11) DIŠ NA ŠÀ-šú GIG-ma ŠÀ GÌR.PAD.DU-šú SIG7 ŠUB-a ŠÀ-šú [G]IG.MEŠ

DIRI UD.DA SÁ.SÁ
If a man, his abdomen is sick and within his bones is yellow-green, his abdomen
is full of wounds: ṣētu has overcome him. 25
(12) [DIŠ……SU-šú GE6] KI MUNUS ina KI.NÁ ka-šid ŠU 20 TIN

[DIŠ……SU-šú] GE6 KI MUNUS ina KI.NÁ ka-šid ŠU 30 TIN
[DIŠ……SU-šú SI]G7 KI MUNUS ina KI.NÁ ka-šid ŠU d15 TIN
[If from his head to his feet, he is full of white bubu’tu and his body is black]; he
was overcome when he was in bed with a woman: “Hand of Šamaš.” He will get
well.
[If from his head to his feet, he is full of red bubu’tu and his body] is black; he
was overcome when he was in bed with a woman: “Hand of Sin.” He will get
well.
[If from his head to his feet, DITTO and his body] is yellow/green; he was over-
come when he was in bed with a woman: “Hand of Ištar.” He will get well. 26
Also interesting are those conceptual metaphors concerning an acute type of pain. In the
opinion of the anthropologist Allué, since acute and non-chronic, this kind of pain is easier
to describe to others, being more easily suitable to the composition of metaphors: “Elle
est aussi facile à décrire, on cherche des comparaisons faciles à identifier: ‘c’est comme si
l’on me plantait un couteau’, ‘c’est comme si l’on me déchirait les entrailles’ ou ‘je sens un
pincement qui m’empêche même de marcher droit’. La douleur aiguë est, pourtant, la plus
abordable.” 27
To this category belong verbs such as ṣarāpu 28 and ḫamātu, 29 which might express a
sort of burning sensation, building the conceptual metaphor “illness is fire.” As a matter
of fact, even though it is not always clearly expressed, the use of these verbs implies the as-
similation of pain to that caused by the burning of fire; the heat caused by certain ailments
and pathologies causes this sensation, whether it is perceived on the skin or inside the body.
Here are some examples:
(13) DIŠ N[A ŠÀ].MEŠ-šú MÚ.MÚ SAG ŠÀ-šú ú-ṣar-r[ap-šú] GABA-[s]u GU7-
šú NINDA.MEŠ u KAŠ.MEŠ LAL NA [BI ḪAR.MEŠ GIG] ⎾UŠ11⏋ GU7 u
NAG
25 BAM 6, 575: 21–22. See Scurlock and Andersen 2005, 54, Text no. 3.127; Böck 2010a, 73.
26 SA.GIG 18: 21–23. See also Labat 1951, 170; Heeßel 2000, 219: 21–23; Scurlock 2014, 175: 21–23.
27 Allué 1999, 128.
28 CAD Ṣ, 102–104; AHw, 1083.
29 CAD Ḫ, 64–65; AHw, 316.
If a m[an,] his [entrail]s are constantly bloated, his epigastrium caus[es him] a
burning pain, his chest devours him, he has no desire to eat or drink, [that] man
[is sick in his lungs], he has been given the kišpū-witchcraft to eat and to drink. 30
(14) [DIŠ N]A SAG ŠÀ-šú i-ḫa-am-maṭ-su u KÚM-em NINDA GU7-ma UGU-
šú NU DU-ak
A NAG-ma UGU-šú NU DÙG.GA u SU-šú SIG7 NA BI GIG na-a-ki GIG
[If a m]an, his epigastrium causes him a burning sensation and he is hot, he eats
bread and it does not agree with him, he drinks water and he does not like it and
his body is yellow-green, that man is sick with a disease du to illicit sexual inter-
course (= he has a venereal disease). 31
Other verbs expressing an acute kind of pain are zaqātu 32 , dakāšu 33 and saḫālu 34, which –
with partly different nuances – indicate the stinging pain. 35
(15) [DIŠ] NA [SAG ŠÀ?]-šú ú-ḫa-[ma-su ú-ma]-ḫa-su ú-za-qat-su ú GU7-šú NA

BI A.[GA.ZI G]IG
[If] a man, his [epigastrium] burns him, causes him a throbbing pain, stings
him, and devours him, this man i[s sick] with the A.[GA.ZI-illness]. 36
(16) DIŠ MUNUS Ù.TU-ma e-la-an ú-ri-šá ú-sa-ḫal-ši em-ša-ša TAG.MEŠ-ši

MUNUS BI Ì.RA DAB-si (…)
If a woman gives birth and her pubic region stings her, her hypogastric region
continually touches her, niru seizes this woman (…). 37
(17) DIŠ NA SAG ŠÀ-šú i-ḫa-maṭ-su i-dak-ka-su ÚḪ-su x[…] U4.DA SÁ.SÁ (…)
If a man, his epigastrium burns him, (and) stings him, his phlegm is […], ṣētu has
reached him (…). 38
30 BAM 5, 434: 13’-15’. See Abusch and Schwemer 2011, 232, Text no. 7.10.1: 13’-15’.
31 SA.GIG 22: 12–13 (see also SA.GIG 13: 9’-10’). See Labat 1951, 178; Heeßel 2000, 259; Scurlock
2014, 189.
32 CAD Z: 56; AHw, 1513.
33 CAD D: 34. AHw (151) intends it as ‘etwa ausbeulen, austreiben’.
34 CAD S: 237; AHw, 1003.
35 For an-depth analysis of these terms, see Salin 2017.
36 BAM 75, ll. 1–2. See Scurlock and Andersen 2005, 287, Text no. 13.21: 1–2. Also in STT I 96: 20.
37 BAM 240, ll. 17’-18’. See also Scurlock and Andersen 2005, 281, Text no. 12.120; Böck 2010b, 112.
Whereas the latter interprets Ì.RA as “niru”, the former translates it as ‘striking’, probably consider-
ing RA as ‘to sting’ with prefix ì-.
38 AMT 45, 6, ll. 6–7. See Scurlock and Andersen 2005, 287, Text no. 13.20, and Stol 2007, 20, 26. See
now tablet K 2386+ Johnson 2014, 14–16.
160 Silvia Salin
Perhaps, presuming its similarity to that caused by a scorpion, we may suppose that the
pain denoted by zaqātu is very sharp, while that indicated by saḫālu and dakāšu (and
related substantives) is less intense, inasmuch as it generally describes the puncture of a
thorn, but the debate about their meaning is still open. Despite that, it is possible to state
that the Assyro-Babylonians made an attempt to describe how the patient felt comparing
it to that caused both by a scorpion and a thorn.
Metaphors and Conceptual Metaphors on the Body
Some medical texts offer actual metaphors relating to the body and its features. They could
compare either some specific parts of the body or some determined illness to something
else, describing their aspect or their movements. Here follow some examples concerning
the eyes:
(18) […] MÚD šu-har-[ra-te] IGI.MIN GIN7 nik-si UDU.NÍTA MÚD š[e-en-a]
GIN7 A.MEŠ ša a-gala-pe-e a-la-pa-a ŠUB-a ki-ma DUG A.GEŠTIN.NA ŠUB-a
ṣil-la
The eyes are suffused with blood like a slaughtered sheep, they are spotted like
the water of a lagoon with alapû-algae, they are spotted like a vinegar-jar with the
ṣillu-shadow. 39
(19) DIŠ UD-ma UD.DU-šú IGI-šú šá 150 GIN7 gišB[AL ilammi] IGI-šú šá ZAG
MÚD DIRI-at (…)
If, at the time he (= the “Lord of the Roof”-demon) overcomes him, his left eye
circles like a spindle, his right eye is full of blood, (…). 40
These metaphors are really colourful; that comparing the spotted eyes to a slaughtered
sheep, clearly refers to the blood squirted during the killing of the animal, while that
associating the sick eyes to the vinegar-jar (or, better, to the liquid contained in it) covered
with a shadow, compares the vessel and its liquid to the eyes and their watery substance.
Example no. 19 relates the movement of the eye to that of the spindle, choosing a very
common domestic scene as a comparison. 41
Interesting are the metaphors written in the 33rd tablet of the diagnostic series SA.GIG,
where there are comparisons between “the nature of the illness” and something else, be it
another illness, a lesion, or a stone:
39 BAM 6, 510: ii 28’-29’//513: ii 43’-44’//514: ii 40’-41’. See Panayotov 2017, 220–221, ex. no. 5.
40 STT I 89: ii 109–110. See Panayotov 2017, 237; Stol 1993, 16: 91–92.
41 For an in-depth analysis of metaphors relating to the eyes, see Panayotov 2017.
(20) [DIŠ] GIG GAR-šú GIN7 ni-šik UḪ-ma pa-gar-šú DIRI a-šu-ú m[ut-ta]
p-ri-šú MU.NI
[DIŠ] GIG GAR-šú GIN7 ter-ke-e-ti kal SU LÚ DIRI kul-la-ri MU.NI
[If] the nature of his illness is like the bite of a louse and his body is full (of
them), its name is “fleeting” ašû.
[If] the nature of his illness is like dark spots and the man’s whole body is full (of
them), its name is kullaru. 42
(21) DIŠ GIG GAR-šú GIN7 NA 4.ZÚ TA GÚ-su NIGIN-me šá-da-nu MU.NI
If the nature of his illness is like obsidian (and) goes around his neck, its name is
šadānu. 43
Apart from actual metaphors, in medical texts might be found a generous amount of
conceptual metaphors relating to the body.
At this point, it is worth underlying how disease was seen by the Assyro-Babylonians;
they considered it as a sort of loss of equilibrium, both physical and social; in other words,
they thought that a sick person was living in an anomalous condition, which might be due
to the deities’ wrath. Indeed, the personal gods and goddesses – who guaranteed physical
and mental health, success, and luck – either turned against or abandoned the person, leav-
ing him (or her) open to evil actions, which could be performed by gods, demons, ghosts,
and human beings – often witches and warlocks. According to Bottéro, illness was be-
lieved to be the punishment ordered by the gods after a sin or a transgression was commit-
ted (deliberately or not) by the person, 44 and it could be placed directly inside the human
body through physical contact. So, witchcraft – and, consequently, the illness caused by
that witchcraft – is something that could enter the body of the victim through contact in
particular, with the use of bread to eat and beer to drink; thus, it is something contained
within the body. Therefore, the conceptual metaphor apparent here is “the body is a con-
tainer” or “the body is a house”, and it might appear especially in medical incantations and
rituals, such as for instance those relating to pregnancy’ or childbirth’s issues.
Some lines from a collection of incantations recited for a woman in labor having trou-
bles (BAM 248):
(23) ÉN ina KAR mu-ti k[a-lat] GIŠ.MÁ

ina KAR dan-na-ti [k]a-l[at] GIŠ.MÁ.GUR8
ul-tu AN-[e ur-da-an-]ni
42 SA.GIG 33: 6–7. See Scurlock 2014, 236.

43 SA.GIG 33: 28. See Scurlock 2014, 237.
44 For an in-depth analysis of this complex topic see especially Van der Toorn 1985, 56–93; Bottéro
1992, 228; Heeßel 2000, 11–12; 2004, 99; Scurlock 2005, 429–450; 2006, 74; 2016, 4; Koch 2015,
273–278.
162 Silvia Salin
ana dbe-let–ì-lí re-e-me qí-bi-ma

ur-ḫu li-ši-ir ana ŠÀ [dan-na]-ti li-ṣa-a [li-mur] dUTU-ši
(…)
ina IB/LU […] liš-li-ma GIŠ.MÁ
ina IB/LU […] liš-te-še-ra GIŠ.MÁ.GUR8
dan-nu lip-pa-ṭir mar-kas-sa
ù ed-lu lip-pi-ti KÁ-šá
DUR ša GIŠ.MÁ a-na KAR šul-me
DUR ša GIŠ.MÁ.GUR8 a-na KAR TI.LA
meš-re-e-tu lip-te-ṭi-ra li-ir-mu-ú SA.MES
ka-an-ga-tum lup-taš-ši-ra li-ṣa-a nab-ni-tu
GÌR.PAD.DU a-ḫi-tum bi-nu-ut a-me-lu-ti
ár-ḫiš li-ta-ṣa-am-ma li-ta-mar ZÁLAG dUTU-ši
Recitation: “The eleppu-boat is detained at the quay of death; the magurru-
boat is held back at the quay of hardship. [Come down] to me from heaven.
Command Bēlet-ili to have mercy so that it may go straight toward to the road.
May it come out from (the quay of) hardship; [may it see] the sun.
(…)
May the boat be safe in […]. May the magurru-boat go aright in […]. May her
massive mooring rope be loosened, and may her locked gate be opened. (May) the
mooring rope of the boat (be moored) to the quay of health, the mooring rope of
the boat to the quay of life. (…) May the sealed woman be loosened; may the off-
spring come out, a separate body, a human creature. May he come out promptly
and see the light of the sun. 45
In this very interesting text numerous conceptual metaphors stand out. In addition to
those related to the imagery of closed doors – as a matter of fact, the parturient is con-
sidered as a house, where doors ‘are locked’ (edlu) 46 and block the exit of the child – the
most evident one is that of the boat, 47 which might refer both to the mother – who is car-
rying her “precious load” towards the “quay of life” – and to the foetus – who begins to
move through the birth canal. Furthermore, the conceptual metaphors childbirth is
a journey and childbirth is war/prison might be seen, since the words used in the
text are related to the topics of the journey (such as ‘to advance, go towards’ ešēru) 48 and
war/prison (such as ‘to detain, hold back’ kalû). 49
45 BAM 248: i 62–66; ii 48–56. For an in-depth analysis of the myth, see Röllig 1985; Veldhuis 1991.
For other translations, see Farber 1987; Foster 1996; Stol 2000, 66–70; Scurlock 2014, 601.
46 CAD E, 33–36; AHw, 187–188.
47 On this interesting topic, see among others Hätinen 2017.
48 CAD E, 352; AHw, 254.
49 CAD K, 95–104; AHw, 428–429.
Conclusion
In this paper some of the most common metaphors and conceptual metaphors according
to the Assyro-Babylonians have been proposed. It has been shown that metaphors per
se are not very frequent in medical texts, and – where they are present – they might be
related to the description of a specific kind of pain, a part of the human body or specific
characteristics of certain diseases.
As far as the conceptual metaphors are concerned, it has been shown that they might
refer to many and various domains. The most frequent is illness is a (ravenous) per-
son, where verbs such as ‘to devour’ and ‘to consume’ describe the disease as someone eat-
ing the patient’s body. Other conceptual metaphors are those using verbs of the military
jargon, describing the disease as something “seizing”, “striking”, and “overwhelming” the
victim; these conceptual metaphors – illness is war, illness is an enemy – are very
similar to those used in modern Western culture, where diseases are considered some-
thing to defeat. The same might be stated for those concerning acute kinds of pain – such
as the burning sensation – which might be rendered as illness is fire. Other conceptu-
al metaphors express more general ideas, such as those referring to the body as a contain-
er/a house, or those considering life in general and childbirth in particular as a journey.
Although brief and partial, this research might be considered as a starting point for
further analysis, where other kinds of metaphors and conceptual metaphors might be
examined, hopefully allowing us to shed more light on such a fascinating culture as that
of ancient Mesopotamia.
As Gibbs sates: “Over the last decades, numerous studies from various disciplines,
especially from the fields of cognitive science, history and philosophy of science, and
medical and cultural anthropology, have demonstrated the pervasiveness of metaphor
and related tropes (such as metonymy and analogy) not only in human language, but
also in cognition, everyday thinking, scientific reasoning and various other domains of
culture.” 50
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Metaphor for the Construction
of Spontaneous Meanin Ĩ
Examples Gathered from the Rural Landscape
in Sumerian Literature
Nelson Henrique da Silva Ferreira

(Centro de Estudos Clássicos e Humanísticos da Universidade de Coimbra)
Farming had an intrinsic in uence on the cultural matrix of the entire Mesopotamian
region, regulating daily activities and interfering with the conceptualization of the sur-
rounding cosmos. The relation landscape/agricultural is an engine of linguistic creativity
and established connections between abstract thought and natural world. The language
generated from such interaction is a semiotic manifestation, which correspond to a sim-
plistic and obvious image to an interlocutor who recognizes meaning on images cultural-
ly transmitted by traditional preconceptions.
This paper proposes a brief analytic discussion on “signs of meaning” mechanics
through examples such as abundance’s concept, which can be traced in visual expression
from “protoliterate times” onward. We argue how linguistic thought preserved imag-
es of richness, loss and prosperity generated from the visual agricultural landscape and
from the relation human/ natural phenomena/ production. Latter, those images were
expressed in literature as figuration of an abstract meaning intrinsically connected to tra-
ditional thought and common-sense. Sumerian literary texts are examples of transmission
vehicles for pre-historical semantic construction of traditional symbolism and its social
value, regarding a cultural reality. Those images are archaeologic objects, for they are the
closer one can get to the day-by-day reality of a Sumerian speaker.
How can semiotics be helpful for anthropological studies on “silent voices” of the past?
Literature as Source
The exegesis of literature is inevitably based on modern preconceptions. Even the sugges-
tion and identification of “linguistic thought” is an interpretation based on our concep-
tions of traditional thought. For this reason, I have opted to classify some of the symbols
not by words, using a crystallized lexicon, but by the ideas expressed in the texts, which
means that the concept of “signs of meaning” is crucial to my argument on transversal
DOI: 10.13173/9783447114370.167
168 Nelson Henrique da Silva Ferreira
human thought. It is important to remember that words are very evocative. They can
identify specific objects, but the same objects may suggest other meanings, depending on
function, shape, colour, texture or cultural reception. Therefore, the word that identi-
fies the object may also identify other abstract ideas and even other objects. For example,
considering “phallic imagery” and the many associations it may have with the shape of
an object. Conversely, if one considers all the objects that have a phallic shape, we find a
never-ending list of objects that can symbolize a penis in modern popular discourse. In
any culture, the word is not the only meaningful tool that can be used to identify an ob-
ject. 1 It is the speech context that is given to the object that is crucial to its identification,
regardless of the syntagma being used. In this sense, we cannot believe exclusively in the
reliability of the lexicon for identifying meaning but can try to recreate context through
this semantic multiplicity by analysing the signs of meaning inspired in the image that
serve as the basis of its semantic composition.
In addition, given the lack of cultural context for understanding the semantics of
Sumerian words, it was necessary to work with abstract ideas in order to create meaning,
instead of using possible synonyms and exact definitions of concrete syntagma.
In general terms, regarding the objective of this study and following a simplifying ap-
proach, one can divide semiotics in the following concepts:
Sign of meaning: A visual marker that identifies the individual characteristics of an
image that can convey a crystalized meaning. For example, a landscape described as hav-
ing a lot of fruit trees bears the sign for quantity and the sign for production, materialized
in the fruit. A sign is neither positive, nor negative 2 but simply marks a specific character-
istic that is part of a symbol. I have identified only one exact semantic value for each sign. 3
Symbol: Corresponds to a compound of signs of meaning. Signs can be selected in
order to construct a complex or a traditional symbol.
Traditional symbol: The compounding of crystalized signs of meaning to express the
entire semantic range of the symbolic image. It is the abstract representation of an orig-
inal image that served as the basis for the symbolic construction which is present in the
collective mind. The symbolic image is interpreted spontaneously and relies on empirical
knowledge of the natural world.
Complex symbol or literary symbol: A selective compounding of crystalized signs in
order to construct a symbol whose meaning depends on context and literary purpose. It
tends to take the form of a metaphor or allegory. 4
Value: An “objective meaning” i.e. what a lexeme or idea represents as a concrete ob-
ject. For example, the value of a tree in a literary or lexical context corresponds to its mean-
1 On metaphorical references to the penis in Sumerian literature, see Leick 2003, 48–54. On the Ro-
man context, see Richlin 1992. Cf. also the Renaissance examples presented by Varriano 2005.
2 See also Eco’s definition of signs (2002, 29–43) and Aguiar and Silva 1997, 76–79. On Umberto
Eco’s theory, see also Lorusso 2015, 117–158.
3 This study follows the general principles of the semiotics of signs applied to images crystalized by
common sense and tradition and also to material culture. On signs of meaning concerning material
culture, see Preucel 2006 21–92. On semiotics, cf. also Cobley 2010.
4 Regarding the relation between metaphor, semantics, and literary context, see Stern 2008.
Metaphor for the Construction of Spontaneous Meaning 169
ing as an object. It is the image alone which is important and therefore the value of a tree
lies in the representation itself, which has no positive or negative connotations. However,
if the tree is used as a metaphor, it may suggest other objects, for example, an erect penis.
The value of the tree corresponds to one or more of the signs of its image and thus in
the case of the metaphor for the penis, it corresponds to the signs for the “straight” and
“erect” representation of the tree. 5
Identifying Signs of Meaning in Literary Texts
Metaphor and allegory have unlimited potential in linguistic creativity: there are literally
no manageable limits to their use. Any image of nature and experience of rural life can
be converted into a linguistic comparison with an abstract object or, in other words, into
signs of meaning or symbolic constructions. Theories of metaphor are not debated here,
since definitions which describe them as “involving a comparison or similarity between
two or more objects” or as “interactions between two semantic fields” are not relevant to
the idea of the conceptualization of objects based on signs of meaning. In fact, I would
argue that the debate on the concept of metaphor is to some extent sterile: it attempts to
define a concept that is artificial, hence no one thinks about the concept of a metaphor
when using it in everyday language. Essentially, a metaphor is what a user wants it to be.
Therefore, how can boundaries be established for the interpretation and definition of
generalised traditional metaphors if there is no such awareness? Is that even possible?
Without the definition of “an exact traditional culture” it would be pure speculation
to distinguish between exactly what literary language and traditional abstract language
are and how this is expressed through metaphor, whether Sumerian or Egyptian or Ro-
man. In that sense, how can we distinguish between a popular traditional metaphor and
a literary or complex one?
Firstly, a metaphor is a metaphor, regardless of its complexity, since it corresponds to
a particular type of linguistic construction which has semantic functions. Therefore, all
metaphors should basically obey the same principles and if one can understand and con-
textualize an image presented in a text, one can identify the source of the metaphor by
identifying abstract meaning that has its source in nature, since it functions as a spontane-
ous metaphor. Visual signs of meaning offer us images of a world that formed the basis of
linguistic creativity without the need to consider theoretical debates on literary concepts.
In this sense, I do not intend to engage in hermeneutic discussions on the general literary
expression of metaphors, nor its philosophical principles, as the focus of this study does
not imply entering into a formal extended debate on literature. Hence, I have avoided
specific definitions of metaphor, which are normally dependent on particular rhetorical
contexts and forms of expression, whether textual or plastic.
5 Cf. fn. 1.
In a strict sense, metaphor is an abstract comparison between two images, one of

which is stated and is taken to represent the other. Therefore, it is an explanation of an
image through another image, which can supplement and expand the meaning of the idea
that the speaker wants to transmit. The metaphors examined in this study tend to be used
to enhance and describe meaning through something that is embedded in the collective
memory, 6 although I do not theorize on the conceptual idea of metaphor applied to each
example, but rather will decompose it into signs of meaning.
Metaphor is used to create meaning through the semantics of an image intrinsically
connected to the cultural matrix and the collective abstract thought of the people living
within this matrix. In that sense, although literature is the main source for this study, I
do not attempt to present a philological study by commenting on aesthetics and literary
resources but instead, with regard to the history of traditional thought, will present a
sociological/anthropological study based on key semiotic principles. In presenting quo-
tations from LSUr or Inana B, for example, the aim is to extract information from its
signs of meaning, i.e. the literal data, not the literary data, which has already been widely
studied by other scholars. In using Sumerian literature as a source, it is not always possible
to clearly and definitively identify metaphor or allegory, and I have therefore had to trust
in personal interpretation guided by the signs of meaning that can be identified.
Abstract language and the images which it generates can be a valuable resource for
understanding traditional thought. Abstract language is composed of manifestations
of reality constructed from abstract images, which are the basic building blocks in the
development and crystallization of traditional thought and the conceptualization of the
surrounding natural world. Literature is the vehicle for those images, since the voices of
the ancient cultures were, and are, silent.
As Iser says, “As a concomitant phenomenon of human development, literature ap-
pears to be the mirror that allows humans to see themselves re ected in their manifes-
tations. Such a view of oneself may not result in any immediate practical consequences,
especially since this self-perceiving is inauthentic, highlighted by the fictional “as if.” This
inauthenticity, however, does not seem to invalidate this self-examination, since humans
never cease to perform it.” 7 In other words, literature may re ect fictional realities, but
the symbolic language used to produce it is based on a reality, otherwise it would not be
intelligible. In this approach, the reality is identified in each sign of meaning manifested
in a descriptive image, whether the said image is objective, metaphorical or allegorical.
Although language variation is a crucial aspect of our physiological, psychological and
conceptual systems, 8 the mechanisms for generating meaning seem to follow the same
universal principles, at least when they concern a conceptualization of the surrounding
world that has some effect on human social reality. This is the reason why it is possible
6 On conceptual metaphor, see Lakoff and Johnson 1980.

7 Iser 2000, 157.
8 Brown 2007.
to identify the same signs of meaning in two unrelated ancient literatures, as I intend to
demonstrate from a selection of literary examples. 9
Context: the Landscape of Flood as a Source for Meaning Construction
For example, within the symbol of the ood as an engine of destruction, it is possible to
identify the following relationship between signs from the image of the river:
Sign of uidity + Sign of power + Sign of volume+ Sign of motion.
Regarding examples of the ood in literature, Chen states that “…the ood terminolo-
gy found in most of these earlier sources is used figuratively as similes or metaphors for the
depiction of the invincible and overwhelming power of mythical and human figures,
which are presumably based on the common ecological phenomenon of regular ooding
in southern Mesopotamia. None of the representations of destructive oods from third
millennium sources can be identified with the primeval ood catastrophe that was be-
lieved to have wiped out the whole world except for a few survivors in the primeval time
of origins, as portrayed in the mythological traditions such as the Atrahas s Epic, or to
have divided early world history into the antediluvian and postdiluvian eras (…).” 10 In this
sense, one can say with some certainty that the symbolic meanings of the ood predate
any mythological description, at least concerning the concrete and objectifying image
generated by the action/effect of a mass of water from a river that has burst its banks.
In Inana’s Exaltation (Inana B), ood and destruction are presented as a portrait of a
landscape. In order to establish the potential consequences of the goddess’ power, it is
necessary to create an image that, in itself, could translate the value of Inana’s capacities.
Taking antiquity as a reference, only nature can transmit this value, and therefore only
nature can portray and give meaning to such destructive power:
9. ušumgal-gin7 kur-re uš11 ba-e-šum2

10. diškur-gin7 ki šeg x(KA×LI) gi4-a-za dezina2 la-ba-e-ši- al2
11. a-ma-ru kur-bi-ta ed3-de3
9 There is a list of selected symbols and signs of meaning and the correspondent texts in the appendix
to this paper.
10 Chen 2013, 4. For an extended discussion of the primeval ood as a cultural, literary and historical
theme see ibid.
12. sa -kal an ki-a dinana-bi-me-en 11

9. “ ou poisoned the foreign land like a dragon.
10. When you roar at the earth like Iškur, no vegetation can withstand you. 12
11. As a flood descending from (?) the mountains (?), 13
12. you are their Inana, the powerful one of heaven and earth.”
One can also consider the mechanism of constructing meaning in ll. 9–10. Inana can
kill as a serpent (ušumgal-gin7), but instead of in icting limited, individual damage, the
goddess has the power to affect an entire region by spreading her venom over the land,
bringing sterility to the fields and making them infertile. In these lines, there is a kind of
comparative gradation, since Inana multiplies the capacities that would be recognisable
in nature since her power is translated through a hyperbolic interpretation of a crystalized
image: the danger of a serpent. This mechanism for constructing meaning from an image
of the real world can be seen throughout the canon of universal literature.
At this point it is important to note that, regardless of the great value of Inana in the
Sumerian pantheon, 14 I do not intend to discuss religious and mythological symbology
here. However, the fact that this goddess represents a kind of fertility deity associated with
the fields makes her a special subject in the texts under analysis.
Line 11 seems to suggest that the goddess behaves like a ood that comes from above
(a-ma-ru + ed3-de3); and, as a ood, her power is unstoppable. Following this semantic
construction, it can be understood that nothing would stand in her path. Here, the po-
tential of the image used to construct linguistic meaning is easily identifiable and was
probably instantly recognised, since it is derived from traditional, common-sense based
representations, instead of being a highly literary and aesthetic metaphor. Nevertheless,
it remains a metaphor.
This mechanism is used in the same way in the following text, Išme-Dagan S, 15 which
is a dedication on a statue:
13. zig3-ga-ni u18-lu a-ma-ru tum9 sumur-ba du-a

14. a2-na ba9-ra2-a-ba a2- a2- a2-da-na su3-ud-bi-še3 ir2- ir2-re
15. piri uš edin-na-gin7 usu nam-šul-ba du-a
11 Inana B. cf. A praise poem of Šulgi (Šulgi O) ll. 23–24, ll. 53–54; comp.t. Klein 1976, ETCSL c.
2.4.2.15.
12 cf. Hallo and van Dijk 1968.
13 Cf. Angim l. 119. me3- u10 a-ma e3-a-gin7 kur-re ba-ra-ab-[e3], “My battle, like a raised ood, [over-
owed] in the mountains.” Cf. Išme-Dagan S l. 13; Gudea E3/1.1.7.Cyl. A col. xv ll. 24–26 (Edzard
1997, 78); CLAM 413–419, ll.39–44. Cf. ll. 10–11 with LSUr l. 72.
14 Guevara 2004, 129.
15 On the Išme-Dagan reign see Frayne 1998
13. “His rising is a south wind (storm), a flood, a wind blowing in its fury. 16
14. Who by moving his swinging arms runs off into the distance,
15. who like a terrifying lion from the open country moves with might and vigour.”
Again, there is an idea of power that can only be measured by an evocative comparison
with natural phenomena. The precise evaluation of nature’s capacity to cause harm is
derived from previous observation of a catastrophe or an understanding of how such
an event could affect human life. Individuals in contact with nature can spontaneously
measure how destructive such event could be. It reveals the fragility of a life dependent
on tilling and herding, since an uncontrolled ood would destroy pasturelands, crops and
canals and bring starvation (see infra).
Any interlocutor aware of the interaction between the “natural world” and the “ag-
ricultural universe” would identify the semantic value of this picture, as he would be
familiar with the signs of meaning that compound the symbol.
In fact, the ood contains the sign for strength and energy, as something so powerful
and out of control that it exceeds human powers. Therefore, its symbol can transmit the
idea of immeasurable energy, since the consequences of its effects are known: 17
15. e-ne-em3-ma3-ne2 a-ma-ru zi-ga gaba-šu-gar nu-un-tuku

16. e-ne-em3-ma3-ne2 an al-dub2-dub2-be2 ki al-sig3-sig3-ga
(…)
19. e-ne-em3-d Asar-lu2- i buru14 isin-ba mu-ni-ib2-su3-su3
20. umun-e e-ne-em3-ma3-ni a-zi-ga-ma3 KA al-ur3!-ra
21. e-ne-em3-d Asar-lu2- i a-ma -am3 k[ar al-ša5-ša5]
22. umun-e e-ne-em3-ma3-ne2 gišmes-gal-gal-la gu2-gur5-uš [am3-me]
23. [e-ne-em3-ma3-ni u 4-d]e3 du6-du6-da šu-še3 al-[ma-ma]
15. “Those words of his, a swelling flood, have no rival. 18
16. Those words of his make the heavens tremble, the earth quake.
(…)
19. The word of Asarluhi sinks the harvest on its stalks.
20. The word of the lord is a swelling flood that !sweeps away! ... (cf. LSUr l. 73)
21. The word of Asarluhi is a flood that [transforms the wharfs.]
22. The words of the lord [are] a pile of huge mes-trees.
23. [The words of he] that duels with all and […] into ruins.”
16 Cf. infra, CLAM 123–137, ll. 15–24. Cf. Lugalbanda in the mountain cave l. 469 (comp.t. ETCSL
1.8.2.1; Vanstiphout 2003).
17 CLAM 120–151, ll. 15–25; CDLI no. P414268.
18 Cf. a+36. [a-ma-ru-z]i-ga gaba šu-gar nu-un-t[uku], a+36. It (the word) is a swelling ood that has no
rival. In CLAM 319–332, ll. 1–14, ll. 28–98.
This example describes the effects of a ood. Metaphors of nature and agriculture make
the value of Asarluhi’s words clear: the words are like a ood, so nothing can withstand
it. Essentially, his will is overwhelming and definitive, like a ood: a ood cannot be con-
tradicted (gaba-šu-gar nu-un-tuku), and nor can Asarluhi’s words. 19 The consequences
of Asarluhi’s words are the destruction of the crops (buru 14 isin-ba mu-ni-ib2-su3-su3; cf.
Inana B ll. 11–12). Therefore, they are terrifying, for they summon up the same level of
calamity in the collective mind as the idea of a great famine.
The semantic expansion of the effects of Asarluhi’s dramatic power can be identified
in the metaphor of the ood because the ood image is crystalized in traditional thought,
together with its consequences for the landscape. Regardless of the text’s description of the
effects of the ood, the image is popularly understandable in its entirety and spontaneously
underlines and recalls its own semantic value: the destruction of the crops signifies unbear-
able suffering. 20 This extract has been cited because it presents the symbolic meaning of the
ood together with a description of its image, which enables some of the signs that com-
pound the symbol to be identified: sign of quantity + sign of uidity = destruction of crops.
A similar example is presented in the text Elum Gusun: Honoured One, Wild Ox
(CLAM 271–288):
b+93. a-ma-ru na-nam kur al-gul-gul

b+94. u3-mu-un 21-e e-ne-em3-ma3-ni a-ma-[ru na-nam]
b+95. ša3-bi e-lum-e a-ma-ru na-[nam]
b+96. ša3-bi <<e>> dMu-ul-lil2 a-ma-ru na-nam
b+97. u3-mu-un-na ša3-an-še3 an im-dub2-ba ni ib X
b+98. dMu-ul-lil2 e-ne-em ki-še3 ki im-sig3-ga-ni 22
(…)
b+101. e-ne-em3-ma3-ni a-ma-ru zi-ga gaba šu-gar nu-[tuku]
b+93. “He truly is the flood that destroys the land. (cf. UHF l. 552)
b+94. The word of the lord [is truly a flo]od.
b+95 The heart of the illustrious one [is indeed] a flood.
b+96. The heart of Enlil is indeed a flood.
b+97. The lord causes the interior of the heavens to tremble ...
b+98. The word (of) Enlil causes the interior of the earth to shake.
(…)
b+101. His word is a raised flood that [knows] no opposition.”
19 Cf. CA ll. 149–151; CLAM 500–518 ll. a+69-a+86.

20 On the idea of fragility in the face of the elements, see ll. 69–78, comp.t.: CLAM 126–27, ll. 61–79;
Inana B ll. 1–43.
21 Umun (Emesal).
22 Cf. CLAM 319–332, l. a+36.
Another example is found in ll. 76–78 of the LSUr, but in this instance the image is ex-
panded into a larger landscape:
76. DU-bi a-ma-ru den-lil2-la2 gaba gi4 nu-tuku-am3

77. tum9 gal edin-na edin-e im-si igi-še3 mu-un-ne- en
78. edin ni 2-da al-la-ba sag3 ba-ab-dug4 lu2 nu-mu-ni-in-dib-be2 (cf. CA ll. 149–151)
76. “Their movement, like the flood of Enlil, cannot be withstood.
77. The great wind of the countryside filled the countryside, it moved against
them.
78. The vastness of the countryside was disturbed, no one moved there.”
The signs of the ood are used to show the interlocutor the extent of the god Enlil’s pow-
er. The landscape is a passive agent that generates meaning. This image of destruction
would have been recognised by an interlocutor who understood what Enlil’s powers im-
plied, as summarised in l. 405:
405. elamki-e a ma e3-a-gin7 gidim im-ma-ni-ib2- ar

405. “The Elamites, like a swelling flood wave, left there (only) ghosts.”
In a text addressed to Enlil, the lamentation Utugin Eta: Come out like the Sun (Cohen
1988, CLAM), the action of the god is expressed by the destruction of the land, explained
through the traditional signs for the ood and the visual disruption of the “domesticated
waters”:
b+253. kur na-am2-ge16-le-em3-ma3 im-ma-ni-in-ma-al

b+254. kur na-am2-ge16-[le-em3]-ma3 i7-da i-ni-in-de2 (CLAM 103–116, ll. b+253–
254)
b+253. “He has destroyed the land.
b+254. He poured (the waters of) destruction into the canals of the land” (trans.
Cohen 1988, 113).
This example shows the destruction of the canals or the destruction that comes through
the canals, probably by a ood. The main idea of the image is to present a feeling of dis-
ruption through a chain of relations that have, as their final consequence, starvation and
the destruction of farmland:
Thus, the idea of the canal (‘i7’) as a means of destruction can represent a direct conse-
quence, or chain reaction that results in something bad. Here, it is the context that makes
the symbol negative. However, the traditional symbol is always the same: its compound-
ing signs do not change because they belong to a crystalized image, and the distinction
between positive or negative values depends on the context of the action and the combi-
nation of signs. The interlocutor constructs the image spontaneously, without the need to
think about the relation between the events because he already knows the signs.
In Inana B ll. 43–46, the river is shown as an allegory for death instead of life, which
it should represent in a harmonious world. A semantic value is created by the river that
carries blood or literally death (uš2): 23
43. kur sa ki-za ba-e-de3-gid2-de3-en dezina2 ni 2-gig-bi

44. abul-la-ba izi mu-ni-in-ri-ri
45. id2-ba uš2 ma-ra-an-de2 u 3-bi {ma-ra-na8-na8å ä(2 mss. have instead:) ba-ra-na8-
na8}
43. “äOnce you have extended your province over the hillså ä(2 mss. have instead:)
If you frown at the mountainså, the vegetation there is ruined. 24
44. ou have reduced to ashes its grand entrance. 25
45. Blood is poured into their rivers because of you, and their people ämust drink
itå ä(2 mss. have instead:) could not drinkå.”
Inana is presented as possessing a power capable of destroying fields and killing plants,
which would inevitably mean death by starvation. This meaning is conveyed by the im-
23 Damu, CAD 3, 75–80. One could speculate that the river without blood may serve here as an inver-
sion of the idea of “water of life.”
24 Trans. Hallo and ounger 2003, 519.
25 Trans. Hallo and ounger 2003, 519.
age of vegetation which has become in some way ‘abnormal’ (dezina2 ni 2-gig-bi) and the
visual death of the landscape is extended through the image of human death, namely the
‘blood’ (uš2) in the ‘river’ (id2-ba). In fact, the intensity of this metaphor can be identified
in the inversion of value from life to death. The river, a provider of life, is shown as a sym-
bol of destruction, bringing the extreme opposite of this value to the scene. 26 The destruc-
tion is so universal that a symbol that should represent life becomes the manifestation
of death. Different versions exist for line 45, which may indicate different lexical results
(ma-ra-na8-na8 or ba-ra-na8-na8, as suggested by the ETCLS comp.t), although in terms of
the image created, the semantic value remains the same.
Inana’s actions caused the death of these people. In assuming this interpretation, the
textual ambiguity/variant in l. 45 is not so relevant: “they have no water to drink” or “they
have to drink the blood of their own people.” The value lies in the destruction re ected
in the river, regardless of its direct effect on people’s lives. If the river is blood nothing
will live, as the new river is no longer the source for life in those lands, but the result of
death. Alternatively, it could signify the river bearing the blood of the people it should
feed, although this is a more complex interpretation which I do not intend to follow here.
The Euphrates was the source of water and silt, change and continuity in the sur-
rounding arid environment where other natural resources were scarce. It made the fields
and orchards fertile but brought destruction or scarcity every time the rivers over owed
beyond the expected limits or every time its level was too low. 27 The dangers of ooding
would always have been present in the collective mind of the farmers, whether due to the
river’s absence or its excessive power. 28
The idea of the ood is essentially about the effects of action/motion on a static reality
or, in other words, transformation. When a specific aspect is emphasized, the ood is
framed within a precise moment, as in the text Mutin Nunuz Dima: Fashioning Man
And Woman 29 when the cities are destroyed by the same source that normally makes them
fertile:
a+102. [uru2] a-du11-ga a-gi4-a-za

a+103. Nibruki a-du11-ga a-ta mar-ra-za 30
a+102. “[In your city], which has been flooded, which has been inundated, 31
a+103. in your Nippur, which has been flooded, which has been sunken under the
waters, (…).” 32
26 Angim l. 171; Gudea E3/1.1.7. Cyl. A ll. 5–9 (Edzard 1997).

27 Adam 1981.
28 Cf. the destruction of the landscape in LSUr ll.1–11.
29 Cohen 1988.
30 CLAM 222–245, ll. a+102-a+111.
31 Cf. the scenario presented in UrN A ll. 22–30.
32 The following lines (ll.a+104-a+109) are repeated for Sippar, Tintir and Isin. Cf. LUr ll. 202–203.
The city no longer exists since it has been submerged; the image implies death, starvation,
misery and chaos. It is not the traditional symbol that is negative, but the context that
gives it a negative value.
The destruction of fields and farms would have been a constant danger or, at least, the
fear of such events would have been present in the collective memory, together with its
crystalized meaning, whose visual representation is clearly framed in UrN A:
22. [a-eštub 33 id2]-da de2-a-bi ku3- al2-bi ba-sig9

23. [še gu]-nu a-gar3-re mu2-a-[bi] zi kalam-ma ba-su
22. “[The early flood] poured into the [canals], the canal-inspector was silent;
23. [the barley and the flax] grown in the meadow, the life of the land, was sub-
merged.”
This is an image of a wasteland. The meaning of this image, as far as it can be reconstruct-
ed, clearly shows the signs of the symbol: something that should have brought fertility
instead brought an end to the harvest, since the meadows are submerged (zi kalam-ma
ba-su) by the early ood that should have brought abundance. 34
I have avoided the debate on the “universal ood” as a transversal theme in ancient
Mesopotamian literature, 35 since this is a debate on myth and literature, which are not
exactly the aims of this paper. However, it is important to emphasize how the ood con-
veys the idea of vastness, uidity and spread, since it contains the same signs of water. 36
Therefore, as said in the beginning of this paper, it predates any kind of myth or literary
tradition, as the idea of the ood was present in the subconscious of the community living
under its potential effects.
To sum up, there is a group of signs within the symbol of the river that give the ood a
negative value, basically describing it as a calamity that leaves nothing untouched:
107. a-ma-ru ki al ak-e šu im-ur3-ur3-re

108. ud gal-gin7 ki-a mur mi-ni-ib-ša 4 a-ba-a ba-ra-e3 (LSUr ll. 107–108)
107. “The flood, a working hoe on the ground, wipes away everything.
108. Like a great storm it roared over the earth; who could escape it?” 37
It is important to stress the duality of this symbol; it may be negative depending on its
effect on the landscape. For example, the river brings sediment that serves as source of
33 Civil 1997. This translation makes more sense than ‘carp ood’.
34 Cf. Nanna L ll. 21–23. Cf. the words of Enlil that is an early ood that brings prosperity in Enlil A
ll. 151.
35 See Fleming 2003.
36 Cf. LUr ll. 116–117; supra.
37 Cf. Gudea E3/1.1.7.Cyl. A, col. viii ll. 23–25 (Edzard 199,7 74).
renewal and fertilisation for the fields, but if the silt exceeds the proper space and timing,
the result is merely debris which only signifies abandonment. 38
Problems with Literary Tradition. The Deceive of Lexical Meaning: Context
Art manifests a general social view. For this reason, Sumerian literature is the main source
for “listening to the Sumerian interior voices”, i. e. their cultural thinking, even when
a given text is a translation from the Akkadian language. Speech is a fundamental part
of what allows us to live a collective experience. As a means of expression, the literary
art contains the analogical tools for converting information into precise meaning and
at the same time provides ground for the expansion of symbolic language. In this sense,
the following statement by Guevara 39 highlights my main argument regarding the literary
expression of cultural reasoning, even though she is referring to the religious universe and
its expressive manifestations: “Analogical reasoning entailed a sort of ‘existential parallel-
ism,’ which permeated all aspects of life including visual and poetic expression and per-
mitted the development of notions of art as sacred, as the repository of great powers, and
as ‘divine need and “art in Mesopotamia was anchored in analogical modes of thought
and was pursued in conjunction with the agrarian priorities of the society: agriculture,
animal husbandry, the construction of cities, conquest, monarchical government, and
religion, for example.” 40
In her Ph.D. dissertation, Nancy Guevara 41 points out that agrarian imagery is, in fact,
our main source for approaching the ancient Sumerians. Moreover, in terms of Sumeri-
an interaction with the farming universe, modern rural experience is not so conceptu-
ally different, considering its traditional practice and its conceptualization in popular
thought, probably because its practicalities, necessities and aims were not that different.
In this sense, Van De Mieroop, in a very simple, but remarkable argument, noted that:
“The ancient Babylonians who formulated lexical lists were sedentary agriculturalists and
world history’s first creators of an urban society, a form of society that has now become
universally dominant. Thus, despite the enormous differences between our culture and
theirs, we share basic interactions with the environment, natural or created, and we can
recognize many of their associations as logical. For example, the classification of animals
in Babylonian lexical lists overlaps with that of modern-day agricultural societies. We are
not surprised when we see that the massive series Ura = ubullu in its first-millennium
form devoted two tablets with about 400 entries each to animals grouped into domesti-
cated (tablet 13) and wild (tablet 14) ones. They listed mostly four-legged animals that live
38 LUr ll. 269–270. Cf. Enlil A ll. 115–23; ETCSL c.4.05.1; Reisman 1970, 41–102; LSUr (ll.49–51,
ll.127–130) for the effects of the absence of the ood and the image of crops, fruit and grass that
cannot grow.
39 Guevara 2008, 62.
40 Ibid., 61.
41 Ibid.
on land - birds and fish were dealt with separately in tablet 18 but included some other
species like butter ies and ies among the wild animals.” 42
In other words, the Sumerian attitude toward the technicalities and practicalities of
farming coincided in many ways with a Western tradition that is still practiced. Clearly,
this is a minor coincidence resulting from common sense applied by ancient people – and
common sense in natural matters tends to be transversal and universal.
Nevertheless, proving the relationship between language and social experience of the
agricultural cosmos is an issue when the source is literature rather than empirical obser-
vation of the community. Literature is not the most reliable tool for such research, as
the devices used in popular thought, language, literature and metaphoric language are
quite hard to connect and contextualize. 43 However, it is the main surviving source for
agricultural images, cultural context, and, consequently, abstract language. Metaphors
can be representative of models of thinking: “Our cognitive ability to interpret the world
around us is largely based on metaphor and metonymy. Both of them let us see relations
between unknown and known, remote and near, invisible and visible, based essentially on
similarity and contiguity between concepts.” 44 By understanding the processes involved
in creating a metaphor, we can identify certain elements of linguistic thought in a literary
culture and, at the same time, relate this to a specific context that serves as the source for
signs of meaning. 45
As already noted, the Sumerian language is not yet well known, even though it is quite
understandable and has been studied by scholars for over a century. Hence, it is sometimes
a challenge to argue that Sumerian could have been a literary language, for we have no re-
liable tools for dissecting the hermeneutics of Sumerian texts. However, the vast potential
for metaphor in this language is undeniable and is clearly expressed in texts such as those
which describe the relationship between the gods Dumuzi 46 and Inana. 47 In an artificially
created and thematic corpus such as DI, it is easier to arrive at an interpretation of literary
expression, although this may not be transposable to other texts. Therefore, caution is
needed when considering the possible literal meaning of words and the global picture pre-
sented in a particular text must be examined, since the literal meaning of a word and the
semantics of a narrated image may not coincide. 48 This can be deceptive, since the process
of selecting words implies a description of an abstract concept using an objective lexeme
that limits the semantic spectrum. Moreover, the “author” could have chosen the wrong
words, resulting in a misleading interpretation. 49 It is also necessary to consider the idea
42 Van De Mieroop 2016, 66.

43 Liverani’s 1996 on attempts to reconstruct the rural landscape of ancient Mesopotamia.
44 Raible 2016, 21–44
45 On semiotic aspects of metaphor, see Nöth 1985.
46 On Dumuzi, see Alster 1972, 9–15; Fritz 2003.
47 See Sefati 1998.
48 On literal and non-literal meaning in speech, see Gibbs and Colston 2006, 835–862.
49 Griffin and Ferreira 2006, 23–34. On “word production” and “word selection” in speech, ibid.,
23–60.
of the “literary code” 50 that tends to recreate meaning and is highly dependent on literary
context, which cannot always be clearly identified in Sumerian literature.
For example, with regard to abstract concepts such as “richness”, 51 “prosperity” and
“beauty”, any natural component of the agricultural cosmos can definitely carry sym-
bolic meaning in a cultural context, although this is hard to identify in simple lexical lists
such as those produced for the Sumerian language or in Akkadian thesauri with anach-
ronistic definitions. It is necessary to look for the context of these ancient abstract con-
cepts by identifying the images that were visually available to the original interlocutors,
in order to obtain information about their objective meaning. Naturally, defining what
objective information is also constitutes an interpretation. If there is an image of abun-
dance in a landscape, this remains my interpretation: knowing about landscape and lush
fruits and how valuable they can be to me, I am the one who identifies abundance in a
concrete literary image and states that there is a kind a beauty in this richness (see appen-
dix). However, since my preconceptions are based on signs of meaning, I would argue that
my sensory interpretations are similar to those of the rustic Sumerians. However, can we
realistically claim that this would have been the same for an interlocutor dependent on
traditional Sumerian cultural standards? What would Sumerian people have considered
beautiful? Firstly, what is factual beauty? Does its definition depends on cultural context?
Ignoring the entire philosophical debate on aesthetics, plastic beauty is a manifestation of
visual pleasure. Thus, if something announces a kind of richness and a secure, peaceful
life, there is beauty in its essence, since if it was transformed into a picture, it would be an
enjoyable scene. In what essential way could this process have been different for Sumerian
people or the interlocutors of Sumerian texts? I believe it was similar, since this kind of
reasoning is profoundly human and simply depends on experience of the natural world,
empathy and common sense. Hence, considering these kinds of associations between ab-
stract ideas and linguistic meaning, it can definitely be claimed that metaphor has a place
in the farming landscape, namely the same type of metaphor used for phallic objects or,
in other words, the same linguistic resource that transforms an object into an obvious
abstract meaning. It can definitely be stated that some texts contain manifestations of
beauty or richness, probably because they are part of a cultural matrix (DI A ll. 51–56). In
the agricultural cosmos, beauty and ugliness come from an aesthetic conceptualisation of
an abstract landscape based on common sense.
Conclusions
i r i
As they are based on agricultural imagery, concepts expressed through symbolic language,
such as richness, fertility, abundance and prosperity, are made up of signs of meaning ac-
50 On literary codification and semiotic systems, I have followed Eco 1998.

51 See Appendix.
quired by observation of the natural world. These signs of meaning are simple semantic
references based on an empirical visualization of the surrounding cosmos. Signs such as
“quantity”, “variety”, “work”, “growth”, “crops” and “production” are the basis for these
symbols and are spontaneously understood by any interlocutor familiar with the farming
cosmos. In this sense, semiotics may be a very useful tool, not only for a better reading
of literature written in a given language whose lexicon may be ambiguously decontextu-
alized, but also for approaching the voices of the “silent people” whose language would
have been based on the same cosmos that provides meanings for the symbolic language
of literature.
i r r i i i r r i ri i
Definitely, the production of a semiotic data base list of signs of meaning that could be
used to export interpretations of symbols from/into different cultural/historical contexts
should be considered for collaborative projects on humanities by interdisciplinary groups.
A list of signs of meaning with cross-referenced sources and symbols could improve sub-
stantial the capacity of generating reliable lexicons of ancient languages and at same time
bring light to the study of contexts that cannot be reached. Prosopography tends to focus
on administrative texts, however, semiotics could transform literary sources into poten-
tial prosopography sources also, that, instead of describing economic procedures, would
reveal the abstract thought of the ancient peoples. The principle is simple: decomposing
meaning into signs to be used for the reconstruction of fragmented textual information
and hermeneutic value.
Appendix
Signs of meaning from the riverine landscape in the literary sources:

Si ns Textual references
Production CT 42 4 rev. iii 1–2; Išme-Dagan D ll. 24–26; DI D1 ll. 60–63; CLAM
272–318, ll. c+153–4, CLAM 221–249, ll. c+279-c+280; Gudea E3 /1.1.7. CylB
col. x ll. 16–23; LSUr ll. 498–502; R m-S n G ll. 31–33; Nanna L ll. 21–23;
Enlil and Ninlil ll. 91–99
Absence LUr ll. 144–146, 269–270; Hymn to Enlil ll. 115–23; LSUr ll. 49–51, ll.
127–130.
Power Inana B ll.9–12; CLAM 123–137, ll. 15–24; CLAM 271–288, ll. B+93-b+101;
CLAM 319–332, 1–14, 28–98; LSUr l.73, ll. 76–78, ll. 405; Nungal A ll. 31–33;
Cooper 1978 l.119; Išme-Dagan S l. 13; Gudea E3/1.1.7.CylA col. xv ll.24–26;
CA ll.149–151
Crops Growin DumDr ll.131–132, ll. 138–143; DI D1 ll. 60–63; LSUr ll. 498–502; Blessings
of Kesh, CT 36 col. iii, II. 13, 15, 19, 21, 23; ETCSL c.1.1.3 ll. 259–60; ETCSL
c.1.6.2 ll. 359–62
Fluidity LSUr l.73, ll. 76–78, ll. 107–8, 216–217, ll. 293–294, ll. 389–391; Inana B
ll.9–12; Išme-Dagan S ll. 13–15; CLAM 123–137, ll. 15–24; CLAM 120–151, ll.
15–25; CLAM 271–288, ll. B+93-b+101; CLAM.106, ll. b+253–254; CLAM
319–332, 1–14, 28–98; CA ll. 149–151; Nungal A ll. 31–33; Angim l.119; Gudea
E3/1.1.7.CylA col. xv ll.24–26); Nanna L ll. 21–23
Motion LSUr ll. 389–391, ll. 405; Išme-Dagan S ll. 13–15; CLAM 123–137, ll. 15–24;
CLAM 106, ll. b+253–254; CLAM 271–288, ll. 34–35; CLAM 319–332, 1–14,
28–98
Drin (Irri ation) Angim l. 171; hoe and plough l. 157–158
Destruction ? Inana B ll.9–12; CLAM 106, ll. b+253–254; CLAM 120–151, ll. 15–25; p. 271–
288, ll. 34–35; CLAM 319–341, ll. f+164; LSUr ll. ll. 107–8, ll. 127–130, 405;
LUr ll. 49–51, ll. 98–99, ll. 144–146, l. 197, ll. 269–270; Gudea E3/1.1.7.CylA,
col. viii ll. 26–27; Hymn to Enlil ll.115–23
Inundation (Sin in ) CLAM 120–151, ll. 15–25; CLAM 271–288, ll. 34–35; CLAM 319–341,
ll. f+164; Cooper 1978, l.119; LSUr ll. 405; Išme-Dagan S l. 13; Gudea
E3/1.1.7.CylA col. xv ll.24–26
Volume/ Quantity CLAM 106, ll. b+253–254; CLAM 195–199, ll.33–38; CLAM 271–288, ll.
34–35; CLAM 319–341, ll. f+164; DI D1 ll. 60–63; Nungal A ll. 31–33
Signs of meaning from abundance and natural beauty:
Wor DI A ll. 51–56; Enlil A ll. 109–123; DI I 23–28; CA ll. 256–280; LUr ll. 271–274
Growin Summer and Winter ll.19–25; CA ll. 157–175; Išme-Dagan S ll. 4–7; DI T ll. 2–8; EnlSud
ll.156–166; UrN D (Ur Version) ll.32–38; LUr ll. 3–11, ll. 38–44; LSUr ll.49–51, ll.85–91,
ll. 123–132, ll. 271–274, ll. 303–317; Enlil A ll. 109–123; CA ll. 170–175, CA ll. 222–236,
ll.245–255; Enlil and Ninlil ll. 143–150; DI A ll. 2–10; DI D ll. 4–11; DI F ll.1–16, 29–32; DI
O ll. 15–30; DI W ll. 7–34; E1.14.20.1, col. iii ll.22–31; E3/1.1.7.CylB col. xv ll. 1–4; ELA ll.
551–555, ll. 596–599; Enki and the World Order ll. 52–60; Ninurta F ll. 1–11
Crops Summer and Winter ll.19–25; DI A ll. 51–56; DI D ll. 4–11; DI F ll. 29–32; DI O ll. 15–30;
DI R ll. 5–8; DI T ll. 2–8; CA ll. 12–18, 25–28, ll. 37–39, ll. 46–56, ll. 157–175, ll. 222–236,
ll.245–255; Išme-Dagan S ll. 4–7; EnlSud ll.103–123, ll.156–166; R m-S n G ll.1–10, 11–21;
DumDr ll. 110–114; The song of the ploughing oxen: an ululumama to Ninurta ll. 14–37;
DumDr ll. 136–139, ll. 142–143; Sheep and Grain ll. 190–191; UrN D (Ur Version) ll.32–38;
LUr ll. 3–11, ll. 38–44, ll. 251–253, ll. 266–268, ll. 275–276; LSUr ll.49–51, ll.85–91, ll.
123–132, ll. 303–317; Enlil A ll. 109–123; Ninurta’s exploits: a šir-sud (?) to Ninurta ll.
358–367; Enlil and Ninlil ll. 143–150; DI A ll. 2–10; DI B ll. 7–9; DI F1 ll. 11–20; CLAM
195–199, ll. a+51-a+52; E1.14.20.1, col. iii ll.22–31; ELA ll. 596–599, ll. 619–625; Nanna-Suen’s
journey to Nibru ll. 186–97, ll. 294–305; Enki and the World Order ll. 52–60; Ninurta F ll.
1–11; Enemani Ilu Ilu - His Word Is a Wail, a Wail ll. 13–17; SP 3.23; E3/1.1.7.StB, col. iii
12–19+col. iv 1–13; E3/1.1.7.CylB col. xv ll. 1–4; Ewe and Grain ll. 1–36
Provid- DI F ll.9–16; DI A ll. 51–56; DI O ll. 15–30; DI R ll. 1–11; DI W ll. 7–34; DI T ll. 2–8;
in Summer and Winter ll.19–25; CA ll. 12–18, ll. 25–28, ll. 37–39, ll. 157–175; EnlSud ll.103–123,
ll.156–166; R m-S n G ll.1–10; The song of the ploughing oxen: an ululumama to Ninurta
ll.14–37; DumDr ll. 136–139, ll. 142–143; UrN D (Ur Version) ll.32–38; LUr ll. 3–11, ll.
38–44, ll. 251–253, ll. 271–274; Enlil A ll. 109–123; Ninurta’s exploits: a šir-sud (?) to Ninurta
ll. 358–367; Enlil and Ninlil ll. 143–150; E1.14.20.1, col. Iii ll.22–31; E3/1.1.7.CylB col. xv ll.
1–4; Nanna-Suen’s journey to Nibru ll. 186–97, ll. 294–305; Enki and the World Order ll.
52–60; Ninurta F ll. 1–11; Ewe and Grain ll. 1–36
Quantity Summer and Winter ll.19–25; DI A ll. 2–10, ll. 51–56; DI R ll. 1–11; DI O ll. 15–30; DI T
ll. 2–8; DI W ll. 7–34; CA ll. 25–28, ll. 37–39, ll. 46–56, ll. 157–175; Išme-Dagan S ll. 4–7;
EnlSud ll.103–123, ll. 159–166; R m-S n G ll.1–10; Sheep and Grain ll. 190–191; UrN D
(Ur Version) ll. 32–38; LSUr ll.85–91, ll. 123–132; Enlil A ll. 109–123; Ninurta’s exploits: a
šir-sud (?) to Ninurta, ll. 358–367; E1.14.20.1, col. Iii ll.22–31; ELA ll. 551–555, ll. 596–599;
Nanna-Suen’s journey to Nibru ll. 186–97, ll. 294–305; Enki and the World Order ll. 52–60;
Ninurta F ll. 1–11; Gudea E3/1.1.7.StB, col. iii 12–19+col. iv 1–13
Variety Ninurta’s exploits: a šir-sud (?) to Ninurta ll. 358–367; DI R ll. 1–11; DI B ll. 7–9; DI W ll.
7–34; ELA ll. 596–599; Ninurta F ll. 1–11
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“S uee in ” Li e Oil from a Sesame SeedĨ
On the Conceptual Bac round of
Metaphoric Expressions in A adian Diplomatic
Texts Ori inatin from Ḫatti
Lisa Wilhelmi (Freie Universität Berlin)
Introduction
In their important and in uential study on the use of metaphors and imagery in daily
communications, Lakoff and Johnson sketch a picture of the fact that metaphors are not
a simple means of communication but that, as indicated by the title of the work, they rep-
resent a framework that “we live by.” 1 That is to say that they are not only shaped by our
environment, perception and cultural context, but that they themselves possess agency
in shaping our understanding of the interconnectivity of aspects and spheres of our lives.
And, as Knowles and Moon point out in Introducing Metaphor the force and vigour that
is achieved through metaphoric speech more often than not is due to the fact that meta-
phors actually represent a fairly imprecise, or to use their words, “fuzzy” way of commu-
nication; one that leaves much to the imagination, interpretation and evaluation of the
individual, thus creating a resonance chamber that conjures up powerful associations and
emotions while at the same time avoiding too explicit a formulation that could exclude
this ambiguity. 2
Translating Metaphoric Speech
While metaphoric concepts can be shared across cultural and linguistic borders, their con-
crete idiomatic implementations and manifestations in metaphoric speech are often in-
trinsically linked to a given language and these do not always translate easily. That is to say
some metaphors are universal and appear so apparent to human consciousness that they
are used in similar ways and are mutually intelligible for people with disparate geographic,
temporal and linguistic background – this is often the case for such references that allude
1 Lakoff and Johnson 1980.

2 Knowles and Moon 2006, 12.
DOI: 10.13173/9783447114370.187
188 Lisa Wilhelmi
to body parts and the like. Less so are cultural metaphors that are more closely bound to
experience, environment and history of a particular culture and/or linguistic prerequisites.
The limitations of metaphoric speech can be demonstrated vividly when comparing
the introduction to Lakoff and Johnson’s work in the original (English) publication and
its German translation: The first semantic field that serves as an example to illustrate the
effervescent nature of metaphors in our conceptual thinking are the idiomatic expres-
sions used in the (American) English language to describe arguments, many of which
conjure up images of warfare, and the authors point out that this, in turn, has shaped our
conception of arguments to the extent that we are unable to conceive of a type of discus-
sion that does not present itself as a series of onslaughts, withdrawals, and, ultimately, a
winner and a loser. 3
While this certainly holds true, the given examples show that although there is a com-
mon conceptual background to the metaphoric expressions used in both languages, the
linguistic realisation of specific turns of phrase is not necessarily identical and the Ger-
man expressions do not always offer a literal translation of the English idioms.
Ar ument is war
Your claims are indefensible.

He attacked every weal point in my argument.
His criticisms were right on target.
I demolished his argument.
I’ve never won an argument with him.
You disagree? Okay, shoot
If you use that strategy, he’ll wipe you out.
He shot down all of my arguments. 4
Ar umentieren ist Krie
Ihre Behauptungen sind unhaltbar.

Er gri {eden Schwachpunkt in meiner Argumentation an.
Seine Kritik traf ins Schwarze.
Ich schmetterte sein Argument ab.
Ich habe noch nie eine Auseinandersetzung mit ihm gewonnen.
Sie sind anderer Meinung? Nun, schießen Sie los!
Wenn du nach dieser Strategie vorgehst, wird er dich vernichten.
Er macht alle meine Argumente nieder. 5

4 Ibid.
5 Lakoff and Johnson, transl. Hildenbrand 1997, 12.
“Squeezing” Like Oil from a Sesame Seed 189
In the following chapter the authors explore the metaphor that is coined by the equation
of time with money, illustrating the perception that time can be spent or saved, borrowed
or lent, used more or less profitably, or wasted. Among the 16 expressions given as exam-
ples here, there is undoubtedly some overlap in the conceptual backdrop, but there are
a number of German “translations” that do not conform to the conceptual framework:
they do not only not present literal translations of the English expressions, but they do not
actually reference the same metaphor.
Time is money
You’re wasting my time.

This gadget will save you hours. 6
I don’t have the time to give you.
How do you spend your time these days?
That flat tire cost me an hour.
I’ve invested a lot of time in her.
I don’t have enough time to spare for that.
You’re running out of time.
You need to budget your time.
Put aside some time for ping pong.
Is that worth your while?
Do you have much time left?
He’s living on borrowed time.
You don’t use your time profitably.
I lost a lot of time when I got sick.
Thank you for your time.
Zeit ist GeldĲ
Sie vergeuden meine Zeit.

Dieses Gerät wird Ihnen viel Zeit ersparen.
Ich habe keine Zeit zu verschenken.
Wie geht man heutzutage mit seiner Zeit um?
Dieser platte Reifen kostet mich eine Stunde.
Ich habe viel Zeit in diese Frau investiert.
Ich habe keine Zeit zu verlieren.
Ihnen wird die Zeit knapp.
Du mußt mit deiner Zeit haushalten.
Nimm dir Zeit zum Tischtennisspielen.
Lohnt sich das zeitliche für dich?
6 Lakoff and Johnson 1980, 7–8

190 Lisa Wilhelmi
Haben Sie noch viel Zeit?

Seine Tage sind gezählt.
Du nutzt deine Zeit nicht optimal.
Ich habe durch meine Krankheit viel Zeit verloren.
Danke für die Zeit, die Sie sich für mich genommen haben. 7
The stock phrase “time is money” is said to have been coined by Benjamin Franklin in
1748 in association with the nascent industrialisation and the rise of capitalism in North
America and there seems to be a need to explore the context in which the metaphor first
became productive in German and to what extent those German language expressions
that do reference the metaphor are to be traced back to cultural transfer, displacing an
existent metaphor of time lexicalised in these language before this in uence.
The validity of this time is money metaphor in modern languages other than English
is also questioned by Enrico Monti in his comparative study of three translations of Lak-
off and Johnson’s work into French, Spanish and Italian respectively, with similar results:
while some expressions are perfectly equivalent to the ones in use in American English the
metaphor appears to be less productive in these Romance languages. 8 In fact, his conclu-
sions show that there is a much more consistent overlap in the metaphoric conceptualis-
ation of time in German on the one hand and French, Spanish and Italian on the other,
while the metaphor behind the English language expressions appears to be quite singular:
expressions featuring the verbs “opfern” (German), “consacrer” (French), “dédicar” (Span-
ish) and “dedicare” (Italian) suggest a whole different conceptual background rooted in
the voluntary act of giving something for the good of someone/something else.
The lack of correspondence in these modern translations make for a compelling point
of departure as they illustrate that, while there is a shared conceptual background of the
wider metaphor in the first case, this is filled with different concrete images in the two
languages. In the second case the metaphor does not actually seem to be of so much sig-
nificance at all and different concepts form the background of the existing metaphoric
expressions. Enrico Monti’s comparative study of the translations of Lakoff and John-
son’s book into the three different, but closely related languages, shows that there are
significant differences in the resulting books that are largely due to the individual ap-
proaches towards translation, 9 which demonstrates that Metaphors We Live By is a book
deeply rooted in the American English culture and that metaphorical expressions, while
surrounding us and in uencing our daily lives, do not always translate easily. Rather, as
Monti quotes from the introduction to the Italian edition: a whole different book would
have to be written in any given language in order to sketch out the conceptual framework
of the associated culture that has brought forth its conceptual metaphoric idioms. 10
7 Lakoff and Johnson, transl. Hildenbrand 1997, 16.

8 Monti 2009, 214.
9 Ibid., 209–210.
10 Ibid., 210.
Translating Conceptual Metaphors
The above examples of idiomatic expressions relating time to money that do appear in
the various other languages and have found entry into the spoken idiom, can serve as
an example of loan translations that have formed what authors Samaniego Fernández,
Valesco Sacristán and Fuertes Olivera call “new conceptual structures and networks” 11.
In an article with the title “Translations we live by: the impact of metaphor translation on
target systems”, they examine strategies for translating metaphors from one language to
another. Using the headlines of a number of articles translated from the English language
newspaper The Guardian for the Spanish El Mundo del Siglo XXI as an example, they
are able to show that in cases that made use of metaphors, images or references anchored
in the source language but alien to the target language the translators did not translate
literally or even conceptually, but instead used metaphors inherent in the target culture
that were able to best captivate the audience’s attention, with the result that source text
and target text could have little to nothing in common.
Table 1: Samanego Fernández – elasco Sacristán – Fuertes Olivera, 200 , 64

Text no. ST TT
22 Sgotgun wedding of the year thrills belea- La bella y el bestia Beauty and the beast
guered Serbia
29 Politically incorrect moments of a timeless La cara racista del Che Cuevara Che
rebel Cuevara’s racist face
56 Guess who came to dinner Un triángulo amoroso con dudosas esqui-

nas A fuzzy-cornered love triangle
70 The files Cobayas humanas en el Reino Unido Hu-

mans used as guinea pigs in the UK
78 US team finds gold-laden Japanese subma- La joya hundida The sunken {ewel
rine 51 years after sinking
79 Dances with turkeys Con el aguq al cuello up to one’s neck
93 Saddam’s enemy within El clan sanguinario The bloodthirsty clan
98 I homage to Dallas Perot vuelve a la carga perot returns to the

attack
108 The priest, the Angel of Death and the El “gatillazo” del padre Kennedy Big disap-
whispered distress of a small Irish town pointment in Father Kennedy
11 Samaniego Fern ndez, Valesco Sacrist n and Fuertes Olivera 2005.

192 Lisa Wilhelmi
Text no. ST TT
114 Olympic coach jailed for rapes Un violador al borde de la piscina Rapist by
swimming pools
120 The ways of the words Cuando el mundo sea una red When the
world becomed a web
132 19 more Ogonis face hanging as Nigerian Golpean a quienes guardan luto Beatings
major shows who’s boss for the mourning
They conclude that this approach to translation presents a shift from the more traditional
and theoretical model that takes the source language as a standard to be upheld also in
the translation, resulting in such loan translations. In fact, the translations of the title of
Lakoff and Johnson’s book opted for in the various language editions and puzzled over
by Enrico Monti present just such a case: they re ect the dilemma between translating a
metaphor and using a catchy phrase as a book title that will help increase sales. 12
In turn, this means that when there is no free, “associative” translation process met-
aphors can be transplanted from one cultural or linguistic background to another and
thus result in imported metaphors that are created by the direct transfer of metaphoric
expressions and will give rise to new idiomatic expressions that become embedded within
the target language and alter or expand its contextual framework.
However, this is something that is usually applicable to the translation of a fixed source
text that is transferred to a different language, and it is part of the mechanism that Jens
Braarvig describes as the “Dependent Languages” pattern, namely the impact that trans-
lations, especially of iconic or religious texts, can have on a given language, its culture and
its conceptual repertoire. 13 The composition of a new text in a language that is not the
composer’s native language, however, is a different process and does not have the same
force to leave a perceivable imprint. Rather than a “passive”, receiving process these are
“active”, creationary acts and although the mechanisms of translation, like the quest for
an expression or syntactic structure in the target language that matches that of the source
language as closely as possible, can be similar, their impetus is different, as the audience
of the text tends to be native speakers of the target language and thus metaphoric idioms
not standard to the language will be noted, puzzled over, either understood or not, but
ultimately forgotten about.
When reading through the Hittite treaty texts that are written in Akkadian language
it becomes apparent that a whole myriad of universal metaphors are used with regard to
the relationship between kings and other rulers, which are based mainly on body parts –
12 cf. Monti 2009, 211–212, who after deliberating the difference in translating the phrase “live by”
within the study and the book title respectively, does consider that the choice for the latter may have
been down to the publisher rather than the translator.
13 Braarvig 2008.
such as “(to) be in someone’s hands” (which can be a positive or a negative thing), 14 “(to)
fall at someone’s feet”, 15 or “(to) be/fight by someone’s side.” 16 In all likelihood, these met-
aphors did not require a shared cultural narrative but rather appealed (just like they still
do today) to general human perception, and it is these sorts of metaphors that we also find
depicted in the narrative of monumental, state issued, works of art from the Neo-Assyri-
an period. 17 The expressions used in the texts in Akkadian language are not only perfectly
equivalent to ones known from the texts in Hittite language, but they are also known and
comprehensible to a wider audience. It is impossible to determine if their implementation
was due to conscious choice that involved a re ection on the part of the Hittite scribe con-
sidering if a given expression was idiomatic in the Akkadian language too or whether this
overlap went unnoticed. However, the point of comparison of syntactic constructions
used in Bo azköy Akkadian texts suggests that scribes gave preference to constructions in
the target language that had an equivalent in their native language and thus appealed on
the basis of their familiarity. Interestingly enough, the mechanisms of translation and/or
equation between the two languages become most apparent when these present us with
errors or inaccuracies rather than with a perfect rendition in the target language.
Lost in Translation?
Rather than adding to the reconstruction of the conceptual framework the Hittites op-
erated in, which is at the very core of a research project lead by Marta Pallavidini at the
14 Cf. e.g.: I šat-ti-ú-a-za DUMU Itu-uš-rat-˹ta˺ i-na ˹ŠU˺-ia aṣ-ṣa-bat-ma DUMU.MUNUS a-na
DAM-ut-ti-šu at-ta-din-˹šu˺ “I took Šattiwaza, the son of Tušratta with my hand and I gave him [my]
(text: the) daughter as his wife” (KBo 1.1, Obv. 58 – treaty between Šuppiluliuma I and Šattiwaza of
Mittani).
15 Cf. e.g.: ˹ù˺ dUTU-šu LUGAL GAL ki-i[t-t]a / ˹ša Iníqiq-ma-an-da i-ta-mar-˹ma ki-i˺ / ˹Iníqiq˺-ma-
an-da it-tal-ka a-˹na˺ šu-˹pa-li˺ / ˹GÌR˺.MEŠ ša-a dUTU-ši LUGAL GAL EN-šu / im-ta-qú-ut “And
the Sun, the Great King saw the loyalty of Niqmaddu, when Niqmaddu came and fell at the feet
(literally: under the feet) of My Sun, the Great King, his lord” (RS 17.373, Rev. 6–10 – decree issued
by Šuppiluliuma I for Niqmaddu II of Ugarit regarding his tribute payments), or the fragmentary:
I
a-zi-ra LU[GAL KUR urua-mur-ri …] / [š]a KUR urumi-iṣ-ri-i it-nu-ma a-na šu-pa-al GÌR.MEŠ Išu-
up-pí-lu-[li-u-ma a-bi] ˹a-bi-ia˺ […] “Aziru, the ki[ng of Amurru] revoked [… o]f Egypt and […] at (lit.
under) the feet of Šuppilu[liuma] my [grand]father” (KBo 1.8+, Obv. 4–5 – historical introduction
to the treaty between Ḫattušili III and Bentešina of Amurru).
16 Cf. e.g.: e-nu-ma IGUR-dIM LUGAL KUR mu-kiš ù Id IM-ni-ra-ri / LUGAL KUR nu-ḫa-aš-ši ù I a-
gít-dIM LUGAL uruni-i / ul-tu le-et dUTU-ši LUGAL GAL EN-šu-nu KÚR ù ÉRIN.MEŠ-šu-nu / up-
te-ḫé-ru “When Itur-Adad, the king of Mukiš, Adad-nirāri, the king of Nu hašši and Akit-Teššob,
the king of Niya moved away from the side of My Sun, the Great King, their lord and they assembled
their troops” (RS 17.340, Obv. 2–5 – treaty between Šuppiluliuma I and Niqmaddu of Ugarit).
17 The so-called Black Obelisk comes to mind, that includes five carvings in bas-relief that depict sub-
jugated rulers kneeling before the Neo-Assyrian king Shalmaneser III with their heads at his feet.
194 Lisa Wilhelmi
FU Berlin, 18 the following focuses on some more obscure examples of figurative speech,
whose origins are not so easily determined. The formulations that err from what might
be expected or customary in Akkadian are used to explore whether the images conjured
up were rooted in wider conceptual metaphors, whether it is possible to decide if these
metaphors were conventional or creative, whether they were universally understood or
culturally embedded, and if it is possible to make out a cultural background that could
have anchored them.
The so-called Syrian treaties of the Hittite empire period kings represents a corpus of
treaty texts concluded with principalities in Northern Syria after the collapse of the Mit-
tanian hegemony and the large-scale conquests during the reign of Šuppiluliuma I that
were renewed where necessary at later stages. 19 Embedded in historical narratives detail-
ing the individual circumstances of subjugation leading to the conclusion of the treaties,
these texts share an established body of stipulations with only slight variations that are
largely concerned with loyalty and military aid. Prominent amongst these is the recurrent
call to fight by the Hittite king’s side ina kul libbi ‘wholeheartedly’. 20 While the image to
apply oneself to a task with all one’s heart may sound perfectly familiar to the English, the
German (“mit ganzem Herzen”) or the French (“de tout cœur”), a comparable notion is
not common in standard Akkadian.
When exploring the possibilities to reconstruct a Hittite equivalent that could have
formed the basis of a loan translation resulting in this unusual phrase, the case of the
Syrian treaties offers the fortunate situation that there are a number of tablets and frag-
ments from the Hittite archives that provide draft texts offering the corresponding pas-
sages in Hittite language. However, although the chosen expression in the parallel texts
is close enough, the Hittite šakuwaššarit ištanzanit 21 is not an exact parallel, as the vehicle
18 A synthesis of her preliminary observations concerning the use of these universal metaphors in Hit-
tite texts and the fact that they are shared in the Hittite and the Akkadian language material from
Bo azköy was presented at the Broadening Horizons conference in Berlin in the summer of 2019.
19 Treaties that are extant in (often fragmentary) manuscripts written in Akkadian language are the
ones re ecting three generations of political relations with the rulers of Amurru (CTH 49, 62 and
92 – issued by Šuppiluliuma I, Muršili II and Ḫattušili III respectively) as well as Šuppiluliuma’s
treaty with Tette of Nu hašše (CTH 53) and one concluded between Muršili II and Niqmepa of
Ugarit (CTH 66). An earlier agreement with Ugarit (CTH 46 – Šuppiluliuma I and Niqmaddu II)
takes a different form and it is a much shorter document, but it already includes some of the same
phraseology.
20 Cf. [šum-ma I][a]-zi-ra iš-tu ÉRIN.MEŠ-š[u / gišGIGIR.MEŠ-šu ù i-na kúl ŠÀ-bi-šu la-a i-na-muš ù
šum-ma i-na kúl] ŠÀ-bi-šu la-a in-ta-at-ḫa-a[ṣ] “If Aziru does not set out together with his infan-
try and his chariotry wholeheartedly, and if he does not fight wholeheartedly!” (KUB 3.7+, Obv.
10–11) as well as the more fragmentary attestations: [šum-ma I a-z]i-ra i-na kúl ŠÀ-bi-š[u / qa-du
ÉRIN.MEŠ gišGIGIR.MEŠ-šu la-a i-na-muš ù it-ti lúKÚR la-a in-t]a-ḫa-aṣ (KUB 3.7+, Obv. 13–14);
šum-ma i-na kúl ŠÀ-šu la-a in-na-aḫ-ḫa-a[ṣ] (KBo 1.4 Obv. II 19); šum-ma Ite-et-te i-na kúl ŠÀ-šu
iš-tu ÉRIN.MEŠ-[šu] / gišGIGIR.MEŠ-šu ú-ul i-na-muš (KBo 1.4, Obv. II 23–24); […] / ˹I˺[…] ˹iš-tu
ÉRIN!˺.[MEŠ … kù]l ŠÀ-˹bi-ka ul ta˺-[…] (RS 17.338+, Obv. 19–20 // RS 17.353+, Obv. 20–22).
21 Cf. the Hittite draft version of the treaty with Aziru: ˹ma˺-a-an zi-˹ik˺ I a-zi-ra-aš / [QA-DU ERÍN.M]
EŠ ANŠE.KUR.RA.MEŠ ša-ku-wa-˹aš˺-ša-ri-˹it˺ ZI-ni-it / [Ú-UL ne]-ni-ik-ta-ti [n]a-an ša-ku-˹wa˺-
of the metaphor is not the concrete noun ‘heart’ but rather the more elusive ‘soul, self’. 22
A reverse scenario of interference, i.e. an imperfect translation of an otherwise unattested
Akkadian idiom into Hittite can be excluded both on the basis that the combined charac-
teristics of the text group establish the source language of the text as Hittite as well as the
fact that the Hittite šakuwaššarit ištanzanit also occurs outside of this corpus: it is attested
in the treaty concluded by Muršili II with Targasnalli of Ḫapalla, 23 and its use outside of
a military context in a set of instructions for lords and overseers issued by Tud aliya IV
demonstrates that it does not have to be understood as technical language in treaty texts
only but that it had a wider scope of application. 24
The only other attestation of the exact phrase as used in the Syrian treaties 25 appears
to be in an Amarna letter sent to Amenhotep IV by Tušratta of Mittani: although the
context is fragmentary it is clear that the expression is used to describe the arrangement
of a marriage between a Hurrian princess and the addressee’s father that, according to the
letter, had been carried out ina kul libbi. 26 Although no corresponding formulation in
Hurrian language is known, the fact that the Hurrian word ti a ‘heart’ seems to represent
the center of emotion and features in expressions such as “(to) love in one’s heart”, “(to)
not speak in a truthful manner from one’s heart” leaves room for the possibility that such
an expression existed.
Given the constant exchange between the scholarly elites of the Northern Syrian area
and the Hittite capital that can be traced in the correspondence between scribal centers
and the occasional inclusion of grammatical, lexical or syntactical idiosyncrasies associ-
ated with texts from one region in texts composed in another, it is very possible that the
scribe issuing the translation of the “prototype”, so-to-speak, translation for the Syrian
treaties was aware of an expression that was in use in the area or that he took his inspira-
aš-ša-˹ri˺-it / [Ù] Ú-UL za-aḫ-ḫi-[i]a-ši “If you, Aziru, [do not] mobilise [together with your infan]try
and your cavalry whole-heartedly, [and] you do not fight!” (KBo 10.12+, Obv. II 21–22).
22 Note, however that CHD/Š-1, 63 – and, following this, see also my own translation in the footnote
above – translates the phrase as “wholeheartedly”, in itself an example for the rendition of a met-
aphorical expression of a source language with one well established in the target language but not
literally equivalent, a frequent approach to translating ancient texts to make them more intelligible
to the modern reader. An imperfect equation of Akkadian libbu with Hittite ištanzana- can be
excluded here as the Sumerographic rendition shows a clear distinction: there is no overlap between
the use of the signs ŠÀ and ZI in the texts from Bo azköy (Weeden 2011, 609, 649–650).
23 KBo 5.4, Rev. 29–30. Cf. Kitchen and Lawrence 2012, 500–501. Treaties concluded with Western
Anatolian vassals did not exist in Akkadian versions as the necessities of communication did not
apply here.
24 KUB 26.12, Rev. III 24–28. Cf. Miller 2013, 288–289.
25 A similar turn of phrase that uses a different head noun but can be understood as a lexical manifes-
tation of the same conceptual metaphor and used within the same general context, namely military
aid, is attested in a treaty between the Neo-Assyrian king Aššur-nirāri VI and a Northern Syrian
principality by the name of B t-Agusi located North of Aleppo: a-na ga-mur-ti ŠÀ-bi-šú la È-ni “if
he does not set out wholeheartedly” (Weidner 1932–33, 25, Rev. IV 3). While the large distance in
time between both attestations urges towards caution, the geographic proximity is striking.
26 EA 29: 29: i-na ku8-ù-ul ŠÀ-š[u] (Rainey 2015, 304–305).
196 Lisa Wilhelmi
tion from a document composed by a Hurrian scribe that he had access to. Employing the
phrase, he thus would have rendered an expression rooted within a Hittite metaphoric
concept, namely the requirement to apply all one’s spirit to an alliance with a contextual
translation that was similar but not identical.
Another curious case is the description of threatening behaviour of enemy countries
as it is attested in the treaty concluded by Šuppiluliuma I with Niqmaddu II of Ugarit and
the decree stipulating the payments of tribute associated with said treaty as well as the
treaty of the same king with Tette of Nu ašše, which must be slightly later than the other
two documents and forms part of the group of the so-called Syrian treaties. 27 The general
context of the situation is quite clear in all instances; however, the interpretation of the
exact meaning of the expression differs. An examination of the relevant passages 28 shows
that the forms have to be understood as belonging to the verb ṣaḫāṭu 29 and that they have
to be translated as ‘(to) pressure’, although the exact primary meaning of this verb is de-
bated and the process of its association with political con ict eludes us. The attestations
booked for the verb ṣaḫāṭu in CAD are all concerned with the extraction process of either
oil from sesame seed or wine or juice from fruit, so that a translation ‘(to) press’ should be
upheld for the G stem. 30 How this verb of food production would have become used in
the D stem to signify acute military pressure is far from certain, but it would not be the
27 Although the passages are translated differently on occasion – cf. e.g. Kitchen and Lawrence 2012,
who seem to take the forms of the Tette treaty as coming from šaḫāṭu (409: ‘he overcame’, 411:
‘attacks him’) while assigning the attestation in the Niqmaddu treaty to saḫāṭu (461: ‘terrorized’) –
the proximity in time, space and genre of the three texts in question is a very strong indicator that
all forms can be considered attestations for the same expression. The heterogeneity in spelling and
the fact that the forms in the Tette treaty seem to alternate between G and D stem demonstrates the
difficulty the scribes were faced with in light of this unfamiliar idiom.
28 The Tette treaty preserves one attestation of a D stem form: ù ki-i-me-e / ú-uṣ-ṣa-aḫ-ḫi-is-sú (KBo
1.4, Obv. I 5–6). An apparent G stem form is used later in the same text in broken context: […] ma-
am-ma iṣ-ṣa-aḫ-ḫa-sú / [...] (Rev. III 1–2). Forms of the D stem are preserved in the texts sent to
Ugarit: ù LUGAL.MEŠ KUR nu-ḫaš ù LUGAL KUR mu-kiš / Ini-˹iq˺-ma-an-da LUGAL KUR
ú-ga-ri-it / ú-ṣa-aḫx(KÚŠU)-ḫa-tu-šu-˹ma˺ (RS 17.227, Obv. 7–9 // RS 17.373, Obv. 7–8 // RS 17.300,
Obv. 7–8); KUR uruu-ga-ri-it ú-˹ṣa˺-aḫ-ḫí-tu-ša (RS 17.340, Obv. 6); LUGAL.E.NE ˹ú?˺-ṣa-aḫ-ḫa-
tu-ni-in4-ni (RS 17.340, Obv. 14).
29 The elusive nature of the expression is illustrated by the fact that it has been difficult to assign the
forms to a lexeme. Labat 1932, 201, and 38 fn. 41, who, due to the structure of his book, only takes
into account the attestations in KBo 1.4 suggests that these should be associated with šaḫātu D ‘to
frighten’. However, it is exactly those two attestations that show that the sibilant in question has to
be interpreted as /ṣ/: in Akkadian texts written by Hittite scribes a seemingly unwarranted doubling
of the phoneme /ṣ/ in the spelling is very common (cf. e.g. on the same tablet: in-du-u - a-a - a –
Obv. II 25 and [re-e]ṣ-ṣu-ti – Rev. IV 9) and the scribe does actually distinguish in using the sign SA
rather than ZA elsewhere for the phoneme /s/ (Obv. II 6: sa-al-mi-ia, sa-lim; Obv. II 13: sa-al-mu),
which is in itself very uncommon but highlights the fact that he considered there to be a difference.
30 The suggestion that the translation ‘(to) press’ should be abandoned considering the fact that sesa-
me oil is extracted from the seed through boiling (CAD Ṣ, 61) must be disregarded not only on the
basis of the figurative usage here which is evident from the context and would make little sense, but
also due to the fact that sesame seeds can indeed be pressed in order to extract their oil.
only instance of a scribe manipulating the foreign language on the basis of their knowl-
edge of its grammatical structure and in the process creating otherwise unattested forms.
The image it creates, no doubt, is a powerful one and can be considered a vivid creative
metaphor, even if no parallels for this imagery are preserved in other texts.
Another image of warfare, or rather lack thereof is conjured up in the treaty between
Šuppiluliuma I and Šattiwaza of Mittani, 31 and with all likelihood the same phrase has
to be restored in a broken passage in the treaty with Niqmaddu II of Ugarit. 32 Here, the
turn of phrase ḫāma u ḫuṣāba ul leqû with the literal meaning “(to) not take a piece of
chaff or a splinter of wood” signifies “(to) not take a single thing”, i.e. to leave unscathed
and not raided. Akkadian ḫāmū ‘litter of leaves, reed etc.’ and ḫuṣābu ‘a cut off piece of
wood, a chip of wood’ are grouped together as a pair in the lexical series Erim uš, 33 which
is known to also have been transmitted at Bo azköy, 34 and the passage containing ām
and ḫuṣābu is actually amongst the parts of the composition that have been preserved on
small fragments found at the Hittite capital. 35 Unfortunately, the Hittite column of the
tablet is lost here, so that we have no information as to which words would have been con-
sidered as equivalent in the Hittite language. Given the few attestations of both lexemes
used together outside of the lexical tradition it may take a step too far to speak of an idiom
in the true sense for Mesopotamia, 36 but there was clearly a very strong association of the
two that appears to have resonated with Hittite concepts. The fact that ḫāmū, which is a
plural word in standard Akkadian, is used in an accusative singular in analogy with the
31 ḫa-a-ma ù ḫu-uṣ-ṣa-a-˹bá ša˺ / KUR mi-it-ta-an-ni ul il-qè “He (the king of Ḫatti) did not take chaff
or splinter from Mittani” (KBo 1.1, Obv. 51–52 // KBo 1.2, Obv. 32–33).
32 Unfortunately only […] u- a-ba […] survives in the passage in question and the text breaks off com-
pletely soon after (RS 17.340, Obv. 31).
33 Cavigneaux, Güterbock and Roth 1985, 37, entry 189–190. No doubt, the fact that the two entries
are separated from what precedes and what follows by horizontal rulings is of significance in the
consolidation of their association.
34 Veldhuis 2014, 276–279.
35 KUB 3.99, Rev. 4. As noted by Scheucher 2012, 650, n.r. 4’ the surface of the tablet is badly damaged
here and he is in doubt whether one can read the expected ḫ mu (sic!) here. In the transliteration
he therefore reads ḫa-˹x-x-x˺ / ḫ[u-ṣ]a-bu, indicating three damaged signs following ḪA in Rev. 3.
However, judging from the photograph there does not seem to be any reason to doubt the reading
of a damaged sign A or to assume more than three signs in total, as already proposed by Cavigneaux,
Güterbock and Roth 1985, 121. Allowing for some damage the traces before the break can be con-
solidated with the initial horizontal of the sign MU, and there is a clear trace of a low Winkelhaken.
36 CAD Ḫ, 259 lists three very diverse attestations that do not seem to indicate a common idiom but
rather a learned association of both words: besides the above cited example from the Šattiwaza Trea-
ty, there is an example from a medical text that seems to provide an incantation for removing a for-
eign substance from the eye as well as the description of a mountain range in a short inscription of
Sennacherib. In the latter ḫāmū ḫuṣābu do not seem to signify ‘nothing’, however, but rather their
absence as types of plants is opposed to the presence of “mighty grapevines” (Luckenbill 1924, 156,
1–2: šá bal-ṭi šá-ri-’ ḫa-a-mu ḫu-ṣa-bu i-na lib-bi / la-aš-šu-ni gu-up-ni dan-nu-ti šá e-’a-ri) and in the
medical text they are followed by “or something”, so that it is clear that they as a pair cannot signify
the entirety (Thompson 1923, 12, 1:50: [ḫa]-a-mu ḫu-ṣa-ba u mim-ma ša IGI.II šu-li-i). Note also
that there is no consistency in the use of the copula between both elements.
198 Lisa Wilhelmi
following ḫuṣāba in the Šattiwaza treaty suggests that in Hittite these words were both
countable nouns and that we are not looking at a completely fixed expression in standard
Akkadian that was simply received and reproduced. The fact that A-A-MU U- A-
BU is used as an Akkadogram in a Hittite letter from MaÜat Höyük indicates that this was
a Hittite metaphor that had found a welcome representation in writing. 37
Conluding Remarks
Translating metaphoric speech from one language to another is not straightforward as

not all metaphors translate from one culture to another when there are different concep-
tual frameworks at play. The above examples illustrate some different strategies Hittite
scribes might opt for when making use of imagery and metaphoric speech in texts written
in the foreign language Akkadian. This could involve filling an existent expression with
more nuanced meaning, opting for a similar but slightly different expression or crafting
an entirely new creative metaphor.
With regard to the diplomatic texts composed in Akkadian language by Hittite
scribes, the target language in most cases is not only a foreign language to the composing
party but it does not correspond to the native language of the corresponding party either,
so that complex conceptual metaphors of the target language might have been lost not
only on the authors but also on the recipients. Theoretically, this may have caused the
authors to steer away from such expressions, even when they were aware of them, if they
were perceived as not meaningful for their audience.
The difficulty in identifying, interpreting and contextualising metaphoric speech in
texts written millennia ago, lies in the fact that in some instances even the primary mean-
ing of a word eludes us and there is often a lack of parallels that might help in establish-
ing why a certain word was chosen to represent a particular idea. Thus, when faced with
single attestations it is possible that either we do not recognise a metaphor for what it
is, because we are not aware that the word had a different “literal” meaning, or when it
occurs in fragmentary context we may not be able to make sense of the passage at all. It is
then even more difficult to establish whether a metaphor is standard or creative and, when
faced with texts that are not written in the scribe’s native language, we have to consider
whether an idiomatic expression re ects a turn of phrase that he has learned during his
education in the foreign language, whether it is inherent in his own language background
or whether there may be in uence from yet another language that functions as an inter-
mediary between the two, for instance in the transmission of literary knowledge or scribal
fare or in the context of correspondence or the exchange of experts.
37 [n]u-uš-ši A-A-MU [Ù] / U-U- A-BU le-e / [ḫ]ar-ak-zi “No chaff or splinter of his shall perish”
(Alp 1991, 294, 92: 3–5). I am indebted to my colleague Tomoki Kitazumi for bringing this letter to
my attention.
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Abbreviations
AHw W. Von Soden, Akkadisches Handwörterbuch: unter Benutzung des lexikalischen

Nachlasses von Bruno Meissner 1 6 –1 4 , Wiesbaden, 1965–1981
Angim The Return of Ninurta to Nippur (ETCSL c.1.6.1)
BAM Die Babylonisch-Assyrische Medizin in Texten und Untersuchungen, Berlin.
CAD The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chica-
go, Chicago
CDLI Cuneiform Digital Library Initiative, http://cdli.ucla.edu
CEB Common English Bible
CHD The Hittite Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago,
Chicago.
CLAM The Canonical Lamentations of Ancient Mesopotamia (M.E. Cohen, The Ca-
nonical Lamentations of Ancient Mesopotamia (Vol. I and II), Potomac, 1988)
CTH E. Laroche, Catalogue des textes hittites, Paris, 1971.
DI A Dumuzi-Inanna Song A (ETCSL c.4.08.01)
ETCSL J.A. Black – G. Cunningham – J. Ebeling – E. Flückiger-Hawker – E. Rob-
son, – J. Taylor – G. Zulyomi, The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Lit-
erature (http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/), Oxford 1998–2006
HED J. Puhvel, Hittite Etymological Dictionary, Berlin/New York/Amsterdam,
1984–2017
HW2 J. Friedrich – A. Kammenhuber et al., Hethitisches Wörterbuch. Zweite, völlig
neubearbeitete Au age auf der Grundlage der edierten hethitischen Texte, Hei-
delberg, 1957–ongoing
Inana B The Exaltation of Inanna (ETCSL c. 4.07.2)
JPS The Jewish Publication Society
KBo Keilschrifttexte aus Boghazköi
KTU Keilalphabetische Texts aus Ugarit
KUB Keilschriturkunden aus Boghazköi
LSUr The lament for Sumer and Urim (ETCSL c.2.2.3)
LUr Lamentation over the Destruction of Ur (ETCSL c.2.2.2)
MT Mesoretic Text
Nanna L A šir-namgala to Nanna (ETCSL c.4.13.12)
NIV New International Version (of the Bible)
RIMA The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Assyrian Periods
RINAP The Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period
RS Ras Shamra – Ugarit (tablet inventory reference)
SAA State Archives of Assyria
UHF Forerunners Udug-Hul (Geller 1985)
UrN A Death of Ur-Namma (Ur-Namma A) (ETCSL c. 2.4.1.1)
DOI: 10.13173/9783447114370.201

Researching Metaphor in The Ancient Near

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Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek

ISSN 1613-5628 ISBN 978-3-447-11437-0

Acknowledgements ......................................................................... VII

Ludovico Portuese & Marta Pallavidini

Nelson Henrique da Silva Ferreira

Abbreviations ................................................................................ 201

Berlin, April 2020

(Dante, La Commedia, Purgatorio, Canto I, vv. 1–6)

Ludovico Portuese & Marta Pallavidini (Freie Universität Berlin)

1 George 2003, 203, column iii, lines 110–111.

30 Mitchell 1994, 11.

34 Feinstein 1982, 50.

relation landscape/agricultural is an engine of linguistic creativity and established connec-

Black, M. 1962, Models and Metaphors, Ithaca: Cornell University Press.

Stéphanie Anthonioz (Université catholique de Lille, UMR 8167)

The Lion in Mesopotamian Royal Inscriptions 8

The Shepherd in Mesopotamian Royal Inscriptions

13 See also Ashurnasirpal II 017, i 35; 020, 40b.

herdsman’, 20 ‘pious shepherd’, 21 and later on ‘capable shepherd’, 22 ‘obedient shepherd’, 23

20 Tiglath-pileser I 01, i 28.

The Lion in Levantine Sources

34 Strawn 2015, 2009, and 2005, in particular pp. 188–192.

The Shepherd in Levantine Sources

The Book of Amos

38 Strawn 2005, 2009 and 2015; Nahkola 2011.

41 See Wilson 2018, specifically p. 319; Craigie 1982.

The Royal Inscriptions of Assyria online (RIAo) Project: http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/

Esther Brownsmith (Brandeis University)

A common biblical conceptual metaphor is faithful behavior is a journey, which

Example : KTU 1.2 . –

Ilu has pulled out his “staff”; l. h.n t

he has shot a bird from the sky! yr . b šmm . r

Jezebel, the Eaten Eater

lĕs cti cation

21 E.g. Abigail’s provisions (1 Sam 25), or Wisdom’s feast in Prov 9.

24 Bird 1989, 224.

Ful lled prophecy Prior prophecy

‫ת־בּ ַשׂ֥ר ִאיזָ ֶֽבל׃‬

Anat the Huntress

60 ‘tkt . rišt . lbmth . šnst kpt . b bšh (KTU 1.3 ii.11–13).

Summary Aqhat KTU 1.1 –1 1 Kings 21

A man possesses Aqhat and his bow Naboth and his

The man is Anat offers to pay Ahab offers money

With a petulant Anat casts her goblet Ahab refuses to

A powerful woman Anat declares to Ilu Jezebel tells Ahab

The man is killed Aqhat dies at a Naboth dies at a

A divine sign reflects Regional drought follows Elijah brings a

Revenge is delayed for After years of mourning, ears later, Ahab,

The Maiden and the Queen

“David’s son Absalom had a beautiful sister named Tamar,

87 Moss and Baden 2015, 14.

Joseph Lam (University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill)

4 Doty 1980, 539.

or to the distinction between bringing something up and saying something in particular

Môtu in the Ugaritic Texts

10 Moran 1989, 102.

Anthropomorphic Portrayals of Môtu

KTU 1.6 I 12–1

y b . ‘m . b‘l . rrt / pn He returns to Ba‘lu on the heights of Ṣapunu,

KTU 1.6 II –11